LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OB 
CALIFORNIA 

i       SAN  DIEGO 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM 


A   CHAPTER    IN    KING    PHILIP'S  WAR 


BY 

THOMAS   C  RICE 


WORCESTER   MASS 
S   WESBY  AND    SONS 
1899 


COPYRIGHT    BY 
J    S  WESBY  AND    SONS 

All  rights  reserved 


DEDICATED  TO  THE  CITY  OF  WORCESTER 
WHICH,    AS    A  TOWN    OF    5,OOO    INHABITANTS,   WAS    MY 

GODMOTHER,    AND    OF  WHICH,  BY 

PROXY  OR  IN   PERSON,    I   HAVE  BEEN  A   HABITANT 
BETTER  'N  TWO   HUNDERD  'N   FORTY  YEAR.1 

THE   AUTHOR. 


"  Breathes  there  a  man  with  soul  so  dead, 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said 
This  is  my  own,  my  native  land?  " 


1  The  author's  three  times  great-grandfather  was  the  first  white  settler  in 
the  plantation  of  Quinsigamond,  and  a  part  of  the  land  belonging  to  the  pri- 
mal occupant  is  still  in  possession  of  a  descendant  and  namesake. 


PREFACE. 

A  PREFACE  is  always  an  afterbirth,  and  to  write  one 
is  invariably  more  or  less  a  task  to  the  author,  and  is  too 
often  a  bore  to  the  reader. 

Many  people  never  read  a  preface  at  all,  but  pass  it  by 
as  a  matter  of  course, — immaterial, — which  is  wrong,  as  it 
may  possibly  be  important. 

A  preface,  if  an  author  must  write  one,  should  possess 
one  of  two  qualities  :  It  should  be  either  instructive  or 
amusing,  and  if  anything  in  the  author's  meaning  should 
chance  to  be  very  obscure,  the  preface  might  be  so  con- 
structed as  to  aid  the  printer  out  of  a  dilemma  and  the 
reader  into  the  sense. 

If  the  preface  is  intended  as  a  key  to  unlock  the  sub- 
ject-matter under  consideration,  it  is,  or  should  be,  super- 
fluous, as  the  open  seasame  should  be  in  the  combination 
and  not  transferable.  If  a  subject  is  properly  treated  in 
the  body  of  the  work  there  should  be  no  necessity  for  a 
preface. 

History  and  romance  are  arts,  as  much  so  as  painting 
or  sculpture. 

Every  work  of  art,  literary  or  other,  should  tell  its  own 
story  without  a  prefatory  word,  otherwise  why  not  require 
the  painter  to  tack  to  his  canvas  an  explanatory  page, 


4  PREFACE. 

or  a  sculptor  who  has  chiseled  out  a  Minerva  to  place  in 
her  lap  the  fractured  skull  of  a  Jupiter,  to  denote  her 
origin. 

Preface  making  is  simply  a  fashion ;  a  very  old  fashion  ; 
one  more  aged  than  venerable,  and  respectable  only  be- 
cause of  its  antiquity.  But  this  author  for  once,  in  pur- 
suance of  a  time-honored  custom,  purposes  a  prefatory 
line  to  a  proposed  historical  romance.  But  what  is  all 
history  but  romance  interspersed  with  statistics,  and  with 
characters  compelled  to  fit  the  scenes,  or  vice  versa  ? 

Pure  history  would  be  a  simple  statement  of  occurrences, 
more  or  less  disjointed,  and,  although  perhaps  sequent, 
not  indispensably  so. 

Casualties,  being  independent  of  motive,  are  not,  of 
course,  traceable  to  human  agencies,  and  so  do  not  involve 
human  responsibility. 

Acts,  until  mankind  is  all  cast  in  the  same  mould,  can 
neither  be  always  predicted  of  character,  nor  with  any 
certainty  traced  back  to  it. 

In  all  history  every  lapse  between  events  taxes  the  in- 
ventive talent  of  the  historian  to  fill  the  vacuum  with  at 
least  plausible  motives  touching  the  event  next  in  succes- 
sion, and  every  act  or  event  is  made  the  natural  result  of, 
and  is  predicated  upon,  the  observed  character.  But 
character  is  too  liable  to  fluctuation  to  be  altogether 
reliable.  Prince  Hal,  and  Henry  crowned,  are  very  diverse 
personages.  The  coward  of  to-day  may  develop  a  hero 
to-morrow,  or  what  we  had  taken  for  a  solemn  saint  may 
turn  out  a  mouthing  Barebones,  usurping  empires,  cutting 


PREFACE.  5 

throats,  or  at  best  a  lively  rascal.  Your  Cromwell  a 
commoner,  is  not  so  common  as  a  Protector. 

To  be  an  entertaining  historian  one  must  also  be  pos- 
sessed of  the  qualities  of  a  good  novelist,  the  chief  differ- 
ence in  their  pursuits  being  that  the  historian  must  utilize 
a  foundation  already  laid,  while  the  romancer  may  improvise 
one.  And,  while  the  historian  is  in  duty  bound  to  keep 
within  the  limits  of  actual  occurrences,  the  romancer  is 
licensed  to  lie  as  much  as  he  chooses,  and  is  }ret  entitled  to 
acquittal,  so  he  keeps  within  the  bounds  of  probability  ; 
for  the  only  scale  by  which  to  measure  his  assertion,  or  to 
weigh  a  fanciful  diversion  is — might  it  not  have  been  so? 

The  writer  of  romance,  historical  or  other,  occupies  an 
almost  limitless  domain,  except  that  in  treating  of  facts 
he  also  should  be  exact.  The  true  artist  shrinks  from 
improbabilities.  He  never  paints  a  scorpion  with  wings, 
nor  a  seraph  with  the  tail  of  a  dragon.  He  is  the  gymnast 
of  literature.  His  stage  is  set  upon  some  certain  facts. 
Events  are  his  appurtenances,  character  his  appliances,  and 
wit  and  imagination  his  paraphernalia.  He  is  a  weaver 
at  his  loom;  mankind  is  his  warp  and  things  inanimate 
his  woof.  His  web  is  rich  or  intricate  according  to  his 
skill,  and  he  has  carte  blanche  for  use  of  everything  in 
earth,  sea,  or  sky. 

So  he  is  true  to  nature  his  truth  is  absolute. 

His  privilege  is  to  avail  himself  of  all  legendary  lore 
obtainable,  and  his  license  extends  to  forging  material  to 
pad  the  lapses,  or  even  to  create  new  events,  with  scenes 
and  characters  to  harmonize.  If  he  entertains  his  readers 


6  PREFACE. 

he  has  fulfilled  his  task,  and  if  he  has  conveyed  some  new 
truths  he  has  done  even  better.  He  has  led  imagination 
in  untrodden  paths,  has  perhaps  benefited  himself  by 
mental  exercise,  and  afforded  his  reader  an  hour  of 
thoughtful  recreation  if  no  more.  But  my  preface  must 
still  linger  on  the  verge  of  commencement,  while  I  crave 
pardon  for  an  act  of  vandalism  in  purposely  setting  fire 
to  a  cherished  literary  dogma — the  writing  of  prefaces — 
and  now,  as  a  formal  preface  to  an  historical  romance  I 
will  proceed  to  say, — If  you  look  over  these  chapters  for 
information,  then  read  them  as  you  would  inspect  a  mine 
held  out  for  purchase.  It  may  be  salted.  Beware  of  too 
easily  uncovered  nuggets.  Don't  mistake  graphite  for 
indications  of  either  bitumen  or  anthracite,  and  waste  no 
thought  upon  ' '  fool  gold. "  "  All  is  not  gold  that  glitters. ' ' 


CHAPTER  I. 

IN  the  northeastern  part  of  the  Plantation  of  Quinsig- 
amond,  a  tract  of  land  converted  in  the  year  sixteen 
hundred  eighty-four  into  the  township  of  Worcester,  by 
Decree  of  the  General  Court  of  Massachusetts,  at  a  point 
near  the  old  stage  road  from  Boston  to  Keene,  and  near 
where  West  Boylston  and  Shrewsbury  corner  against 
Worcester's  line,  or,  to  be  more  explicit,  one  hundred 
rods  due  south  from  Eagle  Rock,  and  by  the  City  farm's 
brook  where  it  flows  under  the  east  brow  of  Burncoat 
Hill,  was  enacted  the  first  scene  in  a  tragedy  which  cul- 
minated in  the  destruction  of  the  second  settlement  of 
Worcester,  wrapped  central  Massachusetts  in  a  veil  of 
smoke,  and  bathed  her  hearthstones  in  the  blood  of  her 
sons  and  daughters.  At  the  place  here  designated,  on  an 
October  afternoon  in  the  year  seventeen  hundred  one,  a 
startled  buck  darted  between  the  trunks  of  the  wide-apart 
old  chestnut  trees  and  was  making  for  the  hillside,  when 
two  arrows,  shot  from  opposite  directions  by  unseen  hands, 
pierced  either  flank,  and  with  a  convulsive  bound,  a  halt, 
a  momentary  quiver  of  the  whole  frame,  the  sharp  muzzle 
elevated  by  spasmodic  twitches  skyward,  the  wounded 
deer  fell  to  one  knee,  rallied  for  a  moment,  and  then  with 
a  sidelong  stagger  stretched  its  limbs  upon  the  leafy  carpet 


8  DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM. 

of  the  brookside  and  gasped  away  that  portion  of  its  life 
which  had  not  issued  through  the  fatal  wounds. 

As  the  game  reeled  to  its  death,  two  Indians  sprang 
from  opposite  thickets,  and  as  each  viewed  the  other,  un- 
conscious until  that  moment  that  he  had  a  rival,  they 
halted  about  twenty  paces  apart,  and  taking  into  mind  the 
situation,  seemed  for  a  moment  undecided  how  to  act. 

As  they  thus  stood  we  will  sketch  them. 

One  was  tall,  perhaps  twenty  years  of  age,  with  wide 
shoulders,  straight  limbs,  slightly  stooping  carriage,  black 
hair  hanging  loosely  about  his  neck  and  confined  only  by 
a  belt  of  wampum  that  encircled  his  head.  A  red  wool 
blanket,  folded  and  made  to  cross  one  shoulder  met  under 
the  other  arm  and  was  bound  by  a  body  belt  of  raw  hide, 
which  also  was  attached  to  and  supported  a  short  shirt 
of  soft  tanned  buckskin.  Upon  his  feet  were  high-topped, 
laced  buckskin  moccasins.  A  quiver  of  arrows  upon  his 
back,  a  bow  in  his  left  hand,  and  a  tomahawk  and  butcher 
knife  in  his  belt  completed  his  outfit. 

He  was  the  Chief  of  the  Quinsigamond  tribe,  Wandee 
of  Wigwam  Hill. 

The  other  Indian,  who  stood  so  statue-like  in  the  short 
distance,  was  Shonto,  Chief  of  the  Washakims,  or  Twin 
Lake  tribe. 

Both  these  tribes  were  parts  of  the  Nipnet  confederacy, 
a  nation  that  included  all  the  tribes  between  the  Massa- 
chusetts, the  sea  shore  tribe,  and  the  Mohawks  of  the 
Connecticut  Valley,  and  from  the  Penobscots  on  the  north, 
to  the  Pequods  on  the  south. 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  9 

The  Washakitn  was  shorter  of  stature  than  the  Hill 
Indian,  and  was  apparently  somewhat  older.  His  legs 
were  slightly  bent  and  knees  set  wide  apart,  but  with  his 
heavy  chest,  his  thick,  bear-like  neck,  and  muscles  that 
would  grace  a  gladiator,  he  seemed  fully  a  match  for  the 
rival  whose  height  and  superb  proportions  gave  him  per- 
haps the  more  commanding  appearance. 

The  Washakim  chief  wore  the  red  blanket,  but  a  lynx 
skin  shirt,  and  was  otherwise  accoutred  like  the  first. 

Both  chiefs  wore  the  steel  butcher  knife  ;  for  the  whites 
were  already  settling  upon  their  front  and  rear,  and  upon 
either  flank,  and  were  eager  to  barter  implements  of  war 
or  peace  for  the  rich  peltry  of  beaver  and  otter  then 
plentiful  in  all  the  inland  waters. 

The  white  man  had  come  to  occupy  the  Plantation  of 
Quinsigamond,  had  become  possessed  of  it  by  a  grant 
from  the  colonial  authorities,  who  had  based  their  right 
of  bequest  upon  the  assumption  that  a  stranger,  if  he  be 
a  heathen,  can  have  no  rights  which  an  Englishman  is 
bound  to  respect.  To  be  sure  the  planters  had  called  for 
negotiations  with  the  chiefs  of  two  or  three  tribes  con- 
cerned, had  placed  before  them  a  gallon  of  rum  to  stir 
their  stolid  spirits  into  trading  humor,  and  had  then 
acquired,  for  "ten  pounds  of  lawful  money,  or  its  equiva- 
lent in  store  goods, ' '  a  tract  of  land  eight  miles  square ; 
had  repeated  the  play  of  the  birthright  and  the  pottage, 
and  left  the  Indians  homeless  except  by  sufferance. 

There  was  much  that  was  bad  in  the  transaction.  But 
this  is  not  now  important,  and  I  have  digressed  here  merely 


10  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

to  indicate  the  proprietary  standing  of  these  lords  of  the 
woods.  Their  fathers  had  sold  them  out  twenty  years 
previous. 

"  It  is  my  game,"  said  the  taller  Indian,  in  his  gutteral, 
Nipnet  dialect,  as  he  started  forward  with  a  determined 
air  to  appropriate  the  spoil. 

"Stop!"  said  the  Washakim  ;  "It  was  my  arrow  that 
stung  him." 

And  they  again  halted  within  three  paces  of  the  dis- 
puted property,  each  fully  assured  that  his  own  weapon 
had  effected  the  death,  and  disbelieving  that  the  other 
had  made  a  shot  at  all ;  for  the  arrows  had  left  the  stifi 
ash  bows  at  the  same  moment,  with  a  velocity  that  scarcely 
found  impediment  in  the  boneless  matter  of  the  yielding 
flank,  and  had  flown  far  beyond  and  out  of  sight,  while 
the  copious  flow  of  blcod  had  obliterated  the  points  of 
entry  and  exit. 

"I  take  it!"  said  the  Washakim,  and  catching  the 
dead  buck  by  the  antlers  he  threw  it  with  a  whirl  upon 
his  stout  shoulders.  But  the  tall  Indian  was  in  no  mood 
to  be  robbed  with  impunity. 

It  is  nothing  to  our  purpose  to  depict  the  scene  that 
followed.  No  words  were  bandied,  but  a  quarrel  ensued. 
A  sharp  and  desperate  struggle.  The  Washakim  met  with 
hindrance  and  retaliated  with  a  blow.  The  young  Quin- 
sigamond  was  master  of  the  spoil  and  the  Washakim  chief 
went  to  the  happy  hunting  grounds. 

As  will  appear,  the  fate  of  Shonto  and  the  arm  that 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  II 

slew  him  became  known  at  the  Twin  Lakes,1  and  Te- 
huanto,  a  younger  brother  and  chief,  set  his  face  upon 
revenge. 

1Twin  Lakes.     The  two  lakes  of  Washakim — twelve  miles  to 
the  north  of  Lake  Quinsigatnond. 


CHAPTER  II. 

IT  now  becomes  necessary  to  turn  our  attention  for  a 
while  from  this  incipient  tribal  feud  toward  the  new  white 
settlement,  two  miles  west  of  Lake  Quinsigamond,  and 
three  to  the  south  of  the  scene  of  the  encounter  with 
which  the  chapter  closed,  as  upon  this  disturbance  of  the 
peace  hangs,  in  a  measure,  the  fate  of  the  colonists  here 
located. 

At  the  head  of  the  valley  of  the  Blackstone,  on  that 
river's  tributary,  the  Bimelick,1  in  the  Plantation  of  Quin- 
sigamond, a  few  rods  north  of  what  is  now  known  as 
Lincoln  Square,  and  close  by  the  palisades  that  encircled 
a  log  house  of  sufficient  capacity  to  admit  of  the  moving 
about  freely  of  seventy  persons  in  arms,  a  building  slit 
with  loop-holes  for  musketry  and  styled  the  Castle,  was 
a  frame  house  thirty-five  by  forty  feet  upon  the  ground 
and  one  and  one-half  stories  in  height.  If  to  this  descrip- 
tion you  add  a  roof  with  a  pitch  of  forty  degrees  covering 
the  base,  and  a  water  shed  or  "lean-to  "  of  much  less  in- 
clination running  from  one  eave  of  the  main  structure 
fifteen  feet  out  to  the  rear,  you  have  the  area  of  its  base, 
and  have  seen  the  exterior  of  the  Castle  Tavern.  Descend - 

1Biruelick,  later  Mill  Brook,  now  diverted  to  an  underground 
channel — as  Worcester's  sewer  main. 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  13 

ing  the  cellar  stairs,  you  observe  a  stone  chimney  base 
measuring  twenty  feet  in  each  direction  and  forming  a  low 
arch,  and  above  stairs,  upon  the  ground  floor,  that  aper- 
ture in  brick  called  a  fire-place,  blazing  this  November 
morning  with  a  fore-stick  fifteen  inches  in  diameter  and 
eighty-four  inches  in  length,  with  a  back-log  but  two  feet 
shorter,  both  logs  resting  upon  two  huge  brass  mounted 
andirons,  while  the  space  between  is  heaped  with  burning 
wood  until  crane  and  pot  hooks  redden  with  the  fervency 
of  heat.  If  you  look  at  those  four-pound  billets  of  iron, 
with  their  long  tapering  handles  terminating  in  a  bended 
ring,  and  see  the  shovel  ("fire-slice")  with  its  iron  staff 
seven  feet  in  length,  and  by  the  other  chimney  jamb  you 
see  the  tongs  with  legs  of  ample  length  to  fit  an  ostrich, 
and  if  you  deign  to  look  at  that  little  ten- foot  bar  with  its 
dozen  of  flowing  blue  quart  mugs,  then  you  have  seen 
the  tavern  hall,  the  gentlemen's  reception  room  ;  the  place 
where  they  concoct,  with  the  aid  of  those  iron  billets 
heated  to  a  white  glow,  the  brew  divine,  designated  in  ye 
olden  time  as  flip.  And  this  is  the  room  where  the  land- 
lord stirs  up  for  clergy  and  laymen,  for  saints  and  sinners, 
for  the  doomed  and  the  elect,  what  was  termed  "rum 
toddy."  Nor  is  our  landlord  stingy  in  his  dealing  out. 
Why  should  he  be?  This  essence  of  Jamaica  cane  juice 
costs  but  two  shillings  per  gallon. 

Our  landlord,  the  proprietor  of  the  Castle  Tavern,  is 
Captain  John  Wing,  a  young  man  with  whom  we  have 
large  expectancy  in  the  near  future. 

In  the  great  kitchen  we  may  see  not  only  the  duplicate 


14  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

of  that  monster  fire-place,  but  by  its  side,  when  the  matron 
is  ready  with  those  mince  pies,  you  may  look  into  the 
glowing  blue  red  maw  of  the  now  open  oven  and  see  the 
seething  crater  of  Popocatepetl  in  miniature.  See,  now, 
that  young  woman  in  the  corner  of  the  room  pacing  back 
and  forth,  alternately  minding  her  distaff  and  impelling 
that  spinning-wheel ;  see  the  white-haired  grandmother 
by  the  window,  adjusting  her  spectacles  to  focus  upon 
the  page  of  a  much  worn,  leather-covered,  yellow-papered 
copy  of  the  Holy  Bible,  the  larger  half  of  the  most  ex- 
tensive library  in  the  plantation,  if  we  except  one  owned 
by  a  little  blue-eyed,  sunny-haired,  young  lady  up  on 
Sagatabscot  Hill.  But  she  is  just  from  school  at  Boston, 
and  her  doting  father  has  squandered  three  years'  income 
to  help  her  to  an  education. 

We  shall  learn  to  recognize  the  little  lady  of  Sagatabscot, 
for  the  fates  and  the  witches,  and  those  wild,  red  devils 
of  the  woods  will  be  pulling  at  her  skirts  by  and  by. 
See  that  embryo  soldier  and  statesman,  that  incipient 
democrat,  who  shall  live  to  declare  in  the  face  of  his  pre- 
sumptuous sovereign,  Royal  George,  that  "all  men  are 
born  free  and  equal. ' '  See  him  gallop  through  the  kitchen 
astride  the  house  dog  Bose, — a  canine  pet,  somewhere 
between  the  mastiff  and  fox  hound,  with  the  mastiff 
dominant.  Hear  the  matron  stamp  and  scold  the  midget 
whose  mimic  equestrianship  has  imperiled  that  table  full 
of  savory  mince  pies  that  wait,  but  for  a  moment,  till  the 
iron  door  is  again  opened,  when  down  into  the  red-hot 
bowels  of  that  glowing  chasm  those  mince  pies  must  go, 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  15 

after  a  little  waiting,  while  it  sheds  a  ruddy  glare  and 
paints  with  crimson  those  smoke-grimed  skeins  of  drying 
pumpkin  that  depend  from  poles  attached  at  either  end  to 
the  great  beams  of  the  kitchen  overhead,  waiting  for  a 
lull  in  its  fierce  fervency. 

But  who  among  us,  takes  much  interest  in  strangers? 

And  what  but  strangers  to  us  are  the  men  and  women 
of  two  hundred  years  ago,  except  as  we  follow  them  to 
their  homes,  inspect  their  environments,  regard  their  man- 
ners, listen  to  their  conversations,  and  by  appreciating 
their  surroundings,  their  joys,  their  sorrows,  their  trials, 
we  make  acquaintanceship,  take  on  a  measure  of  sym- 
pathy, of  affiliation,  and  so  learn  to  think  with  them? 

We  have  seen  the  kitchen  :  Let  us  go  back  to  the  bar- 
room and  listen  to  the  talk  of  those  new-comers ;  and 
now  that  his  attention  is  somewhat  averted,  let  us  look 
again  at  that  lusty  young  fellow,  the  captain, — Captain 
John  Wing.  Six  feet  in  his  stockings  is  his  height. 
Light-haired,  blue-eyed,  and  dressed  in  knee  breeches  of 
olive  brown ;  dark,  silk  stockings,  short,  cut-away  coat, 
and  cocked  hat.  No  facial  adornment  of  hair  for  him. 
It  isn't  respectable  in  a  young  man  to  wear  his  beard. 

There  are  guests  in  the  room.  Deacon  Henchman, 
father  of  Captain  Daniel ;  Fiske,  the  surveyor,  and  the 
Parson — Meekman.  The  parson  was  born  in  the  north  of 
Ireland,  and  his  real  name  was  Mike  Rafferty  ;  but  he 
thought  the  name  ill-befitting  a  Puritan  pulpit,  so  they 
changed  it  in  Boston,  in  the  great  Colonial  Assembly, 
changed  it  to  Meekman,  and  left  off  the  too  Romish  pre- 


1 6  DOOM    OF    WASHAKIM. 

fix  ;  but  Michael  or  Meekman — except  that  he  wanted 
the  brogue — was  as  Irish  as  Irish  could  be. 

And  others  were  there.  There  was  Sargent,  and  Hart, 
and  the  Rice's — Gershom  and  Jonas  Rice, — and  Jim  Pyke. 
Jim  Pyke,  in  his  way,  was  peculiar.  There  were  the 
Paynes,  and  a  Curtis, — Curtis,  too,  was  a  captain — and 
others  were  there.  But  no  one  among  them  is  so  silent 
as  Captain  John  Wing ;  none  seems  to  feel  so  little  his 
importance.  He  defers  to  everybody ;  occasionally  re- 
marks, but  gainsays  none. 

And  yet,  our  landlord  is  known  the  country  wide. 
Known  for  his  skill  with  a  rifle,  for  his  superb  equestri- 
anship,  and  he  has  no  rival  as  an  athlete  from  Boston  to 
New  Amsterdam.  He  is  known  also  as  a  terror  to  maraud- 
ing Indians,  more  than  one  of  whom  he  has  sent  with  a 
leaden  billet  of  introduction  to  the  Great  Manito.  And 
Captain  John  was  known  for  other  things,  for  although 
the  devoutest  Churchman — all  were  Churchmen  ;  it  was 
contrary  to  law  to  be  other  than  such — the  devoutest 
Churchman  I  say,  must  confess  that  the  young  captain 
was  first  to  Church  on  Church  days,  and  the  most  liberal 
giver  when  the  hat  was  passed;  and  beside,  he  paid — with 
the  exception  of  Daniel  Henchman,  and  of  his  own  father, 
the  heaviest  tax  in  the  plantation.  Yet  rumor  had  it  that 
Captain  John  gave  royal  suppers  in  Boston  at  least  twice 
in  a  year,  that  he  consorted  with  men  of  the  city  who 
dared  dispute  the  doctrines  of  Calvin,  and  who  even  de- 
clared their  blasphemous  surmises  that  God  was  more 
than  six  literal  days  in  the  work  of  creation ;  and  aside 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  If 

from  this,  Captain  John  had  been  known  to  gallop  his 
thoroughbred  toward  Long  Pond  after  nightfall  of  a  Sat- 
urday. And  was  not  the  eve  of  Saturday  holy  as  a  Sab- 
bath morning?  when,  as  the  law  reads,  "no  man  shall 
ride  or  walk  except  to  and  from  Divine  Service,  or  on  a 
mission  of  mercy."  And  what  was  at  Long  Pond1  except 
those  heathenish  wretches  for  whom  the  sulphurous  flames 
were  leaping  and  licking  the  battlements  of  hell  ? 

Captain  John  Wing  had  been  the  subject  of  much  secret 
and  earnest  prayer ;  for  many  a  comely  lass,  both  in  the 
plantation  and  at  Marlborough,  took  in  his  spiritual  welfare 
a  most  decided  interest,  and  the  spinsters  who  had  turned 
the  first  corner,  and  spinsters  who  had  turned  all  corners, 
and  passed  all  reasonable  hopes  of  matrimonial  alliances, 
the  further  they  had  gone  in  such  direction  the  more 
they  declared  that  Captain  John  was  ripening  for  the 
harvest  of  eternal  damnation. 

There  was  one  figure  moving  about  the  bar-room  un- 
concernedly, but  with  something  of  a  restless  air,  as  if 
suffering  from  ennui,  and  now  and  then  casting  a  glance, 
as  of  contempt,  upon  the  plain  old  farmers  in  their  home- 
spun attire.  He  was  perhaps  five  feet  ten  in  height,  ad- 
mirably proportioned,  with  slightly  curling  dark  hair, 
and  eyes  of  dark,  grayish  blue,  and  ever  restless,  as  if 
impatient  of  his  surroundings. 

He  was  dressed  in  a  velvet  hunting  suit,  riding  boots 
and  spurs,  and  with  wide  open  shirt  collar  exposing  much 
of  the  throat  and  white  symmetrical  column  of  his  neck. 

1  Long  Pond — Lake  Quinsigamond. 
2 


1 8  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

His  only  display  of  beard  was  a  dark  line  upon  the  upper 
lip,  drooping  at  the  corners  of  a  firmly  closed  mouth. 
A  visorless  cap  of  otter  skin,  tipped  forward  almost  to  the 
eyebrows,  partially  shading  features  strong,  well  balanced 
and  mobile,  but  with  an  expression  of  pride  amounting 
to  almost  insolence,  completes  his  picture. 

His  speech  and  usual  manner  marked  him  for  a  man 
of  education,  accustomed  to  society  much  more  polished 
than,  with  an  exception  or  two,  was  to  be  found  in  the 
plantation.  But  the  exceptions  were  not  here  notice- 
able, so  adroitly  did  they  adapt  themselves  to  their  sur- 
roundings. 

This  man  is  Eugene  Archer.  He  came  here  as  the 
invited  guest  of  John  Wing.  We  may  notice  him  in 
particular  as  he  is  destined  to  occupy  important  positions 
in  many  of  the  subsequent  incidents  of  this  drama  of 
mystery  and  blood,  of  constancy,  treachery  and  despair, 
of  witchery,  wickedness  and  retribution. 

Not  a  penny  does  this  man  care  whether  things  go  right 
or  wrong  in  the  plantation.  And  why  should  he,  being 
alien  to  it  ?  He  likes  hunting,  can  ride  or  shoot  with  any 
man  in  America ;  will  not  turn  his  back  upon  a  bear,  a 
lynx  or  an  Indian,  and  he  is  capital  company — for  such 
as  happen  to  suit  him. 

It  was  now  early  candle-light,  and  one  by  one  the  farm- 
ers and  the  blacksmith,  the  wheelwright  and  the  house- 
joiner,  having  finished  the  labors  of  the  day,  came  into 
the  Castle  Tavern  and  drew  their  chairs  before  the  glow- 
ing, crackling,  chestnut  log  fire  that  eagerly  devoured  the 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  1 9 

frequent  armfuls  of  birch  wood  bestowed  upon  it  by  the 
negro,  Jake,  the  serving  man.  And  as  he  dropped  his 
light  but  bulky  burden,  the  roar  and  crackle  of  the  dancing, 
leaping,  white  flames,  with  their  yellow  red  borders  deep- 
ening into  the  sooty  blackness  of  the  chimney  back,  red- 
dened the  faces  of  the  guests,  gleamed  in  reflected  light 
from  the  polished  emerald  tinge  of  the  semi-transparent 
bull's-eye  panes  of  English  window  glass,  and  sparkled 
from  the  eye-balls  of  the  house  cat  in  a  far  corner. 

"  Well,  Parson,"  said  Deacon  Henchman,  to  the  Divine, 
who  sat  by  the  chimney  corner,  stirring  with  the  pewter 
spoon  the  sugar  which  the  toddy  stick  had  failed  to  quite 
reduce  to  solution  in  his  evening  dram,  "what  success 
are  you  having  up  in  Washakim  ?' ' 

"I  think,  Deacon,  we  have  five  hopeful  ones  in  that 
branch  of  the  Nipnets.  Five  poor  souls  plucked  as  brands 
from  the  burning. ' ' 

' '  Who  labors  mostly  with  the  converts  ? ' '  asked  the 
deacon. 

' '  I  preach  to  them  of  the  atonement,  which  by  the 
way  they  so  little  understand  that  they  frequently  break 
out  with  such  questions  as,  'Why  didn't  the  other  two 
Gods  help  Jesus? '  To  their  unregenerate  minds  the  idea 
of  the  Trinity  seems  utterly  incomprehensible. ' ' 

' '  Do  you  labor  long  with  them  ? ' ' 

' '  Not  at  present,  if  I  can  keep  the  exhorters  up  to 
their  work.  I  left  the  two  converted  Packachoags,  Israel 
and  Jacob,  to  minister  to  their  spiritual  needs.  They  are 


20  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

competent  to  do  all  but  to  baptize  the  penitents.  Jacob 
is  very  apt  at  expounding  Scripture." 

"I'm  mighty  'fraid,"  said  the  deacon,  "that  we  shall 
have  up-hill  work  with  them  Washakims.  If  you'd  be- 
lieve me,  I  offered  Shonto  five  pounds  sterling  for  a 
thousand  acres  of  intervale  along  the  lower  Quinnapoxit, 
but  he  only  grunted,  and  said,  '  You  big  buy  man.  Pale 
face  better  buy  tree  Ian'.'  I  pocketed  his  scorn.  He's 
a  tough  Injun,  you  know.  They're  treacherous  fellers, 
these  unconverted. ' ' 

"They  don't  keer  a  snap  for  rum,  nuther,"  chimed  in 
Jim  Pyke,  who  seemed  to  combine  ignorance  of  language 
with  native  wit  and  critical  talent.  "It'll  be  mighty 
hard  to  fetch  'em,  'less  ye  Christianize  'em.  If  they'd 
on'y  fill  up  like  the  Tatnik  and  Bumskit  Injuns,  there 'd 
be  some  hopes  on  'em." 

"What  about  the  Packachoag  converts,  Parson  Meek- 
man?  Did  you  fix  rum  rations  for  them?  their  stay '11 
be  short  unless  you  manage  to  keep  up  a  little  en- 
thusiasm." 

"Why,  yes,  Deacon;  I  couldn't  forget  to  'feed  my 
sheep.'  Realizing  that  '  man  cannot  live  by  bread  alone,' 
I  promised  them  two  quarts  of  rum  every  Saturday,  and 
an  extra  pint  for  every  candidate  for  baptism.  They  must 
be  encouraged  in  the  work  of  the  Lord,  and  we  must  not 
stint  them  beyond  reasonable  limit.  They  will  come  to 
your  store  for  rations,  Deacon.  Of  course  you  will  charge 
it  to  the  Parish. ' ' 

"Of  course,  Parson,  but  we  must  hound  them  out  of 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  21 

the  settlement  as  soon  as  they  get  their  rum.  They  '11 
both  be  drunk  within  an  hour  and  may  be  troublesome. 
The  two  kinds  of  spirits  don't  always  harmonize,  you 
know." 

If  the  reader  supposes  that  the  author  affects  the  style 
of  expression  here  introduced,  either  because  he  regards 
with  complaisance  a  pernicious  habit,  or  that  by  putting 
into  the  mouths  of  professed  Christians  language  respect- 
ing the  natives  which  can  but  seem,  when  considered  by 
itself,  heartless  in  the  extreme,  he  delights  in  holding  up 
to  obloquy  the  characters  of  those  stern  old  pioneers,  or 
of  ridiculing  the  tenets  by  which  they  were  guided,  he  is 
assuredly  mistaken.  The  sentiments  they  expressed  were 
but  the  result  of  an  education,  which  itself  was  the  out- 
growth of  conditions. 

All  Europe  had,  up  to  this  period,  imbibed  as  an  article 
of  faith  the  literal  interpretation  of  Scripture  regarding 
the  heathen  and  all  their  belongings,  and  presumed  them- 
selves to  be  heirs,  through  acceptance  of  the  new  dispen- 
sation, to  the  promises  made  by  Jehovah  to  His  chosen 
people,  and,  for  the  matter  of  strong  drink,  they  had  yet 
to  resolve  the  discrepancy  between  ' '  a  little  is  good  for 
the  stomach's  sake,"  and,  "in  the  end  it  biteth  like  a 
serpent  and  stingeth  like  an  adder." 

Popular  habits  and  sentiments  change  with  dates ;  with 
generations.  Your  forefathers — the  colonists,  held  black 
men  and  their  children,  some  of  whom  were  not  so  black, 
as  slaves,  and  they  made  slaves  occasionally  of  red  men, 


22  DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM. 

and  even  sold  them  into  perpetual  servitude  to  far  off 
countries.1 

And  the}''  could  give  good  scriptural  authority  for  so 
doing.  And  your  New  England  fathers,  aye !  and  mothers, 
with  their  pastors,  and  all  men  and  women,  even  well 
into  the  nineteenth  century,  drank  New  England  rum 
and  thought  it  neither  more  harmful,  nor  sinful,  than  do 
you  in  imbibing  coffee.  Coffee  and  tea  are  your  stimu- 
lants ;  spirituous  liquors  were  theirs.  They  had  no  coffee, 
and  tea  at  pound  sterling  for  pound  avoirdupois  was  ex- 
pensive for  frugal  men  to  indulge  in,  and  their  wives,  or 
the  one  in  fifty  who  knew  whether  to  infuse  a  teaspoouful 
or  a  teacupful  of  the  drug  for  a  party  of  three,  must  needs 
reserve  their  costly  compliments  to  decorate  a  table  for 
guests  numbered  among  the  elite,  as  visitors  from  Boston. 

Shall  we  belie  history  to  avert  a  spasm  of  disgust  ?  or 
shall  we  be  true  to  the  customs  of  the  times  to  which  we 
date? 

"  Probably,"  broke  in  Gershom  Rice,  who,  till  now,  had 
been  a  silent  listener,  "  probably  Tehuanto  is  now  chief 
of  the  Washakims.  Since  the  taking  off  of  Shonto  he'll 
be  apt  to  be  sulky,  won't  he,  Deacon?  By  the  way,  Dea- 
con, something  must  be  done  about  that  matter  of  the 
murder.  The  Whashakims  say  we  have  taken  the  Hill 
Injuns  under  our  wing,  and  they  affect  to  hold  us  respon- 
sible in  some  way  for  Shonto' s  death." 

rThe  child — a  boy — of  King  Philip,  was  placed  upon  the  auc- 
tion block  in  Boston  and  sold  to  a  sea  captain,  who  in  turn  sold 
him  in  the  Bermudas. 


DOOM   OF   Vv'ASHAKIM.  23 

"How  sure  are  they,  'Gershorn,  that  a  Quinsig  killed 
Shonto?"  asked  Henchman. 

"It  don't  matter,  as  I  see,  Deacon,  what  evidence  they 
have  of  it ;  the  result  is  all  the  same,  so  they  believe  it. 
These  Injuns  are  onreasonable  critters,  they  jump  from 
premises  to  conclusion  without  much  care  for  follerin'  a  line 
of  evidence,  and  I  've  noticed  that  they  are  giner'ly  about 
right ;  at  any  rate  they  're  allus  ready  to  hazard  their  for- 
tune on  an  intuition,  as  I  call  it.  But  they  do  say  that 
two  or  three  arrers  from  Waudee's  quiver  were  found  by 
the  body.  Wandee's  arrers,  ye  know,  are  allus  headed 
with  them  black  p'ints  of  quartz  from  the  ledge  back  er 
the  little  mountain,1  and  he's  the  only  Injun  that  uses 
"em." 

"Proof  enough,  I  guess,  Gershom.  In  fact  there's 
not  another  Indian  this  side  of  Mount  Hope  that  would 
dare  to  tackle  Shonto.  We  shall  have  to  move  in  the 
matter,  or  the  Washakims  will  plant  corn  on  the  Quin- 
napoxit  until  doomsday.  I  will  appoint  you,  Pyke,  to 
arrest  and  bring  in  Wandee  for  trial." 

"  'P'intme,  do  ye?  Did  I  understand  you  to  say  Pyke? 
Well,  I  swanny?  I'm  obleeged  for  the  compliment,  but 
I'll  be  excused  if  you'd  jest  as  lief.  That  ar  Injun's  a 
bad  man  ter  take.  If  yer  want  I  should  bring  in  the  old 
painter  that 's  been  er  killin'  the  cattle,  I'll  undertake  it. 
I  might  outwit  the  painter  an'  shoot  him,  but  ye  can't 
fool  that  Injun." 

Specimens  of  black  quartz  are  found  at  the  coal  mine  between 
Millstone  and  Wigwam  hills. 


24  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

"  Well,  as  I  'm  Justice  of  the  Peace,  and  have  authority 
in  the  matter,  I  suppose  I  must  commission  somebody. 
I  don't  want  to  send  in  a  ferret  that 's  afraid  of  the  game." 

"You  can  think  me  a  coward,  Deacon,  and  call  me  so, 
but  when  yer  find  yer  man  that's  brave  enough  for  this 
eer  job,  jest  let  me  know." 

' '  You  are  excused,  Jim.  What  do  you  say,  Comfort  ? ' ' 
asked  the  deacon,  addressing  Comfort  Hart,  of  Packachoag. 
"You  are  a  match  for  any  Injun  living.  Will  you  do 
it?" 

"  Not  while  I  've  a  wife  and  children  dependent  on  me. 
What  dew  you  take  me  fer,  Deacon  ?  A  Samson,  or  an- 
other David?  You  may  as  well  make  up  your  mind,  if 
you  want  that  Injun,  to  send  a  file  of  militiamen,  and 
then  you  've  got  to  coax  him  away  from  the  Hill  alone, 
or  you  '11  leave  your  scalps  at  Wigwam."1 

"  I  don't  seem  to  be  very  fortunate  in  my  appointments. 
What  do  you  say,  Gershom  ?  Can  I  dispose  of  this  trust 
to  you  ? ' ' 

"No,  sir,  you  can't.  That 's  settled.  I  have  my  doubts 
if  the  whole  community  could  take  him.  You  'd  have 
two  hundred  scalp-knives  about  your  ears  in  as  many 
seconds. ' ' 

"  Cap'n  John,  you  seem  to  be  the  only  hopeful  one  left. 
This  matter  must  be  brought  to  a  head,  Cap'u,  or  the 
Washakims  will  give  us  trouble.  Tehuauto  's  not  to  be 
trifled  with  now  his  blood  is  up.  He  is  no  good-natured 

1Wigwam  Hill,  two  miles  from  Worcester,  and  on  the  shores 
of  "  Long  Pond  " — Lake  Quinsiganiond. 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  25 

Pegan,  no  pious  Packachoag.  If  you  can  quiet  the  Washa- 
kims  I  shall  have  some  hope  of  getting  the  intervales ; 
but  justice  is  the  thing  we're  looking  for,  Cap'n  John. 
Justice,  you  know,  and  the  intervales  afterward.  What 
do  you  say,  Cap'n?" 

"I  say,  Deacon,  that  if  Wandee  is  to  suffer  the 
ignominy  of  an  arrest,  and  the  others,  married  men  with 
families,  hesitate,  why  then  I  say,  as  I  have  the  least  at 
stake,  it  is  but  fair  that  I  undertake  the  unpleasant 
duty.  When  shall  I  produce  the  prisoner,  if  I  can  do  it 
at  all?" 

"  I  beg  pardon,  Your  Honor,"  interrupted  the  Boston 
man,  Archer,  walking  up  before  the  fire,  ' '  I  am  a  stranger 
here,  and  it  may  appear  unseemly  in  me  to  tender  services 
unasked,  but  if  the  planters  here  are  too  busy,  as  would 
seem,  I,  being  at  leisure  and  half  dead  with  ennui,  will 
make  a  tender.  Don't  you  want  a  deputy,  Captain? 
Sort  of  a  lieutenant?  I 'm  dying  for  exercise." 

The  captain  smiled  at  this  seeming  braggadocia,  but  he 
had  reason  to  know  it  was  not  such,  and  by  an  apt  and 
ready  answer  turned  the  attention,  as  also  the  facial  ex- 
pression of  the  sturdy  planters  who,  up  to  this  moment 
were  leering,  half  in  surprise,  half  in  contempt,  at  the 
dandy  in  velvet  breeches,  top  boots  and  silver  spurs,  whose 
presumption  so  overmatched  their  preconceived  ideas  of 
his  personal  prowess. 

"  If  I  find  the  task  too  difficult  for  me  to  accomplish, 
Eugene,  there's  not  a  man  within  forty  miles  I  could 
sooner  rely  upon  to  serve  me  in  my  need. ' ' 


26  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

Respect  for  courage  is  as  much  a  part  of  sturdy  man- 
hood as  is  the  love  for  women  and  children,  or  for  a^'thing 
comparatively  helpless.  The  one  commands  deferential, 
the  other  sympathetic  regard,  and  this  off-hand  guarantee 
of  Archer's  reliability  had  the  effect  to  divert  the  farmers' 
eyes  again,  and  this  time  to  produce  an  expression  of 
respect,  bordering  upon  admiration,  which  found  vent  in 
an  audible  murmur  of  applause. 

"Tuesday  morning  then,  Cap'u,  Tuesday  morning  of 
next  week,  ten  o'clock  of  the  day.  Fail  npt  at  your 
peril.  I  believe  that  is  the  term,  Cap'n.  You  can  com- 
mand what  aid  you  need,  but  I  doubt  if  you'll  get  any 
but  this  gallant  gentleman  from  Boston.  You  don't  need 
any  warrant  to  take  him.  He's  only  an  Injun.  Tues- 
day morning,  a  week.  It  will  take  me  some  time  to 
scratch  together  the  law  part  of  it.  Parson  Meekman, 
you  must  loan  me  your  copy  of  the  Colonial  Statutes.  He 
must  have  justice,  you  know,  Parson,  If  he's  innocent 
it  won't  do  to  let  any  personal  motives  stand  in  the  way 
of  acquittal,  not  even  for  the  benefit  of  the  Washakims, 
who  own  the  intervales.  But  he's  only  an  Injun.  I 
believe  they  make  distinctions,  don't  they,  Parson?  In 
the  Colonial  Courts,  I  mean." 

' '  Justice  is  justice,  Deacon, ' '  answered  the  parson.  ' '  I 
recognize  no  such  distinction;  and  being,  by  virtue  of  my 
office,  patriarch  of  the  flock  and  expounder  of  the  higher 
law,  I  will  submit  to  no  misconstruction  of  the  term.  This 
man  seems  to  be  made  in  the  image  of  God  and  is  there- 
fore my  neighbor.  To  be  sure  he  belongs  to  a  race  of 


DOCM   OF   WASHAKIM.  27 

unprofitable  servants;  sons  who  have  wasted  their  patri- 
mony, servants  who  have  made  no  wise  use  of  the  talents 
loaned  them  by  the  Master,  and  as  such  are,  by  the  letter 
of  the  law,  doomed.  But  there  is  a  difference  between 
God's  justice  and  that  which  he  delegates  to  us,  His  ser- 
vants. We  have  no  warrant  to  execute  His  justice,  except 
in  actual  war,  and  under  the  Mosaic  dictum.  I  shall  put 
my  foot  down  solidly  against  any  abuse  of  power,  or  any 
corruption  of  justice  in  deference  to  Colonial  Statutes,  as 
against  the  higher  law,  until  such  time  as  by  some  overt 
and  aggressive  act  these  children  of  the  Father  restrain 
the  spread  of  the  Gospel,  or  trespass  upon  the  chosen 
people  of  God. ' ' 

"I  guess  you're  about  right,  Parson.  It  don't  quite 
agree  with  some  of  your  sermons,  but  there's  often  quite 
a  difference  between  preaching  and  practice.  I  notice 
that  while  you  brandish  the  flaming  sword  of  the  Almighty, 
and  cry  '  Vengeance  is  mine  saith  the  L,ord,'  as  if  intent 
on  its  execution  upon  this  Sodom  of  the  wilderness,  you 
feed  their  hungry,  nurse  their  sick,  and  shed  womanly 
tears  over  their  distress.  Tuesday  morning  a  week.  Get 
pen  and  ink,  Cap'n.  I  may  as  well  impanel  my  jury  at 
once;  or  had  I  better  serve  him  with  a  simple  Justice  trial  ? 
The  law  allows  it,  you  know.  He's  only  an  Injun." 

"Jury  trial,  Deacon,"  said  Captain  John.  "You  said 
he  should  have  justice,  and  justice  is  safer  in  the  hands 
of  twelve  men  than  of  one.  Jury  trial,  or  you  may  get  your 
prisoner  as  you  can.  I  '11  be  party  to  no  mockery  in  this 
matter." 


28  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

"All  right,  Cap'n.  I  merely  wanted  the  benefit  of 
your  judgment.  Please  write  while  I  call  my  jury.,  Digory 
Sergent,  Comfort  Hart,  Ephraim  Curtis,  Jonas  Rice,  John 
Payne,  Gershom  Rice,  Samuel  Henchman,  George  Dan- 
son,  David  Fisk,  Hopeful  Creswait,  Peter  Goulding,  Wil- 
liam Weeks.  If  any  man  in  this  list  of  names  has  already 
formed  an  opinion  with  regard  to  the  guilt  or  innocence 
of  the  accused,  or  from  conscientious  scruples  cannot  with 
peace  of  mind  serve  upon  this  jury,  he  will  so  declare  it. 
George  Danson,  what  have  you  to  say?" 

"  Your  Honor  is  aware  that  I  belong  to  the  Society  of 
Friends,  and  as  it  is  among  the  possibilities  that  a  true 
verdict  might  call  for  blood,  I  cannot  conscientiously 
serve." 

"George  Danson  is  excused.  James  Pyke,  will  you 
occupy  the  position  vacated  by  George  Danson  ? ' ' 

"Wall,  yas!  I  don't  keer  if  I  dew.  I  ain't  got  no 
scruples,  and  right's  right.  If  'taint,  we  ken  make  it  so; 
but  I'd  like  ter  know  if  ye've  made  out  an  indictment 
yet.  Ye've  'paneled  a  jury,  but  what's  the  offence? 
and  who's  the  feller  to  be  tried?  Seems  like  ye'r  gitting 
the  keart  afore  the  horse." 

"It  doesn't  matter,  Jim.  The  prisoner  is  only  an 
Injun." 

"  Funny  'bout  the  prisoner.  Haven't  ketcht  him  yet, 
have  ye,  Deacon?" 

"  If  it  wan't  so  late  in  the  day,  Jim,  I  'd  arrest  you  for 
contempt  of  court.  Put  down  Jim  Pyke,  Cap'u." 

The  Justice  now  rose,  or  rather  got  down  from  his  seat 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  29 

upon  the  bar,  with  all  the  dignity  stipposable  in  a  Judge, 
with  the  first  trial  day  fixed,  when  he  is  to  preside. 

"  I  say,  jedge,"  called  out  Jim  Pyke,  "I've  got  my 
chores  ter  dew,  an'  ef  you'  11  excuse  me  I  '11  tottle." 

"One  moment,  Jim.  It's  not  often  that  we  get  into 
formal  conditions,  unless  it's  at  meeting  time,  and  the 
parson  looks  after  that?  Let 's  have  this  thing  right." 

The  deacon  had  been  too  much  in  command  of  the 
volunteer  militia  to  admit  of  any  oversight  or  omission  in 
point  of  ceremony. 

"Attention!  Right  dress!  No,  no!  that's  not  the 
order,  the  language  I  mean,  for  the  occasion.  Attention, 
company !  Out  again ! ' ' 

"Fault's  in  the  bar,  ain't  it,  Deacon?"  roared  out  Jim 
Pyke,  and  twenty  suppressed  chuckles  announced  a  recog- 
nition of  the  pun. 

"  It  '11  come  ' round  all  right,  Jim, ' '  answered  the  appre- 
ciative but  good  natured  Justice;  "but  speaking  of  the 
term  bar  reminds  me  that  the  Court  is  bound  to  furnish 
an  advocate  for  the  murderer,  the  accused  I  mean.  Please 
to  nominate.  That 's  as  good  a  way  as  any.  If  I  appoint 
one,  somebody '11  say  I'm  partial." 

"John  Wing,"  called  out  a  dozen  voices,  with  no 
counter  nomination. 

"John  Wing  it  is.  It's  no  use  to  put  unanimity  to 
vote.  You  are  hereby  notified,  warned  I  should  have 
said,  to  appear  next  Tuesday  week,  at  ten  A.  M.  of  the 
clock,  armed  and  equipped  as  the  law  (that  can't  be  right, 


30  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

Cap'n).  Come,  anyway.  He's  only  an  Injun.  Fail  not 
at  your  peril." 

"That  kinder  sounds  like  the  judicial  side  er  civiliza- 
tion. Shouldn't  wonder  if  ye  had  a  real  court  house 
here  sometime  in  the  futer.  Try  him,  anyhow,  shan  't  ye, 
Deacon  ? ' '  chimed  in  Pyke. 

"Of  course,  Jim,  we  shall  try  him.  Shan't  waste  all 
this  powder  for  nothing. ' ' 

"That's  ef  yer  ketch  'im;  ye  must  ketch  yer  wood- 
chuck,  yer  know,  afore  yer  eat  him.  Going  ter  try  him 
for  the  murder,  or  fer  the  intervales?  He  is  only  an  Injun 
yer  know.  The  bar  '11  fix  it,  if  it's  well  patronized." 

Suppressed  laughter  was  no  longer  the  rule.  The  house 
roared  at  Jim's  last  sally  ;  but  the  Justice,  good-naturedly 
seeing  the  point,  rapped  to  order,  and  replied: 

"Justice,  Jim!  Justice  first,  and  the  intervales  after- 
ward, if  there 's  no  bar  to  the  last.  Cap'n,  you  may  give 
us  something  warming  all  'round,  if  you  please.  Wait, 
Jim.  About  four  mugs,  Cap'n,  if  you  think  that'll  go 
'round.  Will  you  jine  us,  Pastor?  " 

"  I  '11  have  a  hot  Scotch,  Deacon,  if  there  is  no  objection. 
That  egg  batter  doesn't  agree  with  my  stomach.  No 
Scotch,  you  say?  Well,  you've  a  lemon,  and  may  give 
me  a  rum  sour." 

"Yes,  Parson,"  said  the  captain  who,  although  not 
doing  bar  service,  was  yet  acting  master,  "the  express 
is  just  in  and  the  lemons  are  here.  These  six  horses  have 
done  pretty  well,  only  twelve  hours  on  the  road  from 
Boston.  Forty-five  miles,  and  more  than  a  ton  load." 


DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM.  31 

Four  quart  mugs  were  arranged  along  the  bar,  and 
in  each  mug  was  placed  a  portion  of  egg  batter.  A  one 
gallon  tin  measure  half  full  of  home  brewed  malt  beer 
received  the  red-hot  loggerheads  as  they  were  drawn 
sparkling  from  the  bed  of  live  coals,  and  as  the  beer 
frothed  and  sputtered  under  the  fierce  influence  of  heat, 
it  roared  like  a  beach  surf,  and  gradually  the  white  foam 
rose  to  the  top  and  crowned  the  measure.  Into  the  mugs 
was  now  poured  the  boiling  liquid,  and  when  the  serving 
man  had  duly  flavored  the  concoction  with  a  gill  of  New 
England  rum  to  each  mug,  and  had  heightened  the  ex- 
quisite aroma  by  a  sprinkling  of  nutmeg,  the  mugs  were 
passed  from  hand  to  hand  around  the  seated  circle  and 
was  sipped  at  first,  while  the  heat  was  at  its  utmost  fer- 
vency, and  then  as  it  cooled,  was  drained  by  successive 
attacks  even  to  the  nutmeg  dregs,  when  each  bade  each 
good  night  and  all  went  home. 

A  sound  of  clattering  heels  died  away  in  the  direction 
of  Packachoag,  Sagatabscot  and  the  Curtis  hills,  and  all 
was  still  again. 

As  the  last  glimmer  of  candles  faded  from  the  windows 
of  the  Castle  Tavern,  and  night,  solemn  and  earnest  night, 
shut  down  upon  the  village  clearing  and  its  far-reaching, 
sombre  environs  of  primal  chestnut  woods,  a  nimble  foot- 
step, as  of  a  fiery  horse,  was  heard  at  the  log  stable,  and 
the  whites  in  the  eyes  of  a  black  Barbary  stallion  gleamed 
in  the  moonlight  as  the  saddled  beast  pawed  and  champed 
upon  his  bit,  and  tossed  his  thin,  wiry  neck  and  head, 
impatient  for  his  rider's  mounting. 


32  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

Let  us  look  over  this  desert  angel,  this  combination  of 
every  grace  which  Deity  deigned  to  bestow,  as  the  climax 
of  animated  creation. 

Blacker  than  the  coal  stone  that  crops  out  of  the  hill- 
side to  the  west  of  Wigwam  Hill — a  glossy,  jet  black,  with 
not  a  false  hair  from  croup  to  muzzle,  was  the  hue  of 
Pompey,  as  men  called  him,  and  by  the  glare  of  the  tal- 
lowed wick,  as  its  light  shot  out  in  a  thousand  radiating 
spears  through  the  perforations  of  the  tin  lantern,  or  as 
the  fickle  moonbeams  broke  through  parting,  fugitive 
clouds,  the  eyes  pitched  forward,  half  their  orbs  in  white, 
to  watch  the  master  as  he  moved  about,  while  the  sharp 
pointed  ears  were  sprightly  in  their  movements  as  the 
speckled  woodpecker  dancing  at  morning  to  the  flickering 
sunlight  as  it  leaps  from  leaf  to  leaflet,  from  knob  to  knob 
on  the  rough  bark  of  the  old  chestnut  trunks. 

And  that  thin  mane  and  tail,  straight  back-line,  deep 
shoulders,  withers  high,  clean  fetlock  and  pastern,  with 
the  long  and  muscular  forearm,  told  of  speed  and  endur- 
ance as  well  as  grace. 

Pompey,  the  beautiful,  the  wise,  half  human  brute,  is 
a  character  in  the  unfolding  drama. 

As  the  captain  swings  by  the  stirrup  to  his  seat  in  the 
saddle,  Pompey  is  in  the  air,  and  is  now  sweeping  at  a 
twelve-mile  lope  up  along  the  Boston  bridle-path,  now 
Lincoln  Street. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THERE  is,  at  the  foot  of  Wigwam  Hill,  upon  the  east- 
ern side  and  forming  part  of  the  shore  of  Lake  Quinsig- 
amond,  a  little  green  plat,  a  green  it  is  now,  and  a  green 
it  was  two  hundred  years  ago.  But  in  the  interim  it  has 
three  times  grown  up  a  forest,  to  be  again  and  again 
denuded  as  its  sturdy  growth  gave  promise  of  a  lumber 
harvest. 

Every  lover  of  the  beautiful  in  scenery  will  thank  the 
fortune  that  recently  placed  the  property  in  hands  whose 
interests  are  a  guarantee  for  its  future  preservation  as  the 
tidy  lap  of  the  little  mountain  in  its  rear.1 

The  hill,  and  this  bit  of  tabled  lake  shore  land  of  which 
we  speak,  may  be  hereafter  considered  as  the  culminating 
point  of  more  than  one  design,  some  of  which  were  bright, 
some  dark,  some  sweet,  some  awful. 

That  little  piece  of  greensward,  perhaps  three  acres 
in  extent,  was  bordered  by  a  deep  ravine  upon  the  north, 
a  sharp  boulder-ridden  ridge  and  glen  upon  the  south,  the 
lake  some  twenty  feet  below  it  on  the  east,  and  westward, 
steep  rising  land  for  perhaps  ninety  feet,  with  here  and 
there  a  primitive  chestnut  tree,  or  a  dark  green  hemlock, 
and  above,  a  bald,  black  precipice,  which  we  surmount 

1  Mountain  and  plat  are  at  present  the  property  of  the  Natural 
History  Society  of  Worcester. 


34  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

by  following  zig-zag  ledges,  to  find  above  still  other  ground 
rising  abruptly,  to  terminate  in  still  another  scarp  of  rock 
much  less  in  height,  and  over  and  beyond  a  nearly  level 
acre  or  more  of  earth,  forming  the  crown  of  the  hill. 
That  piece  of  green  sward  with  its  protecting  elevation 
in  the  rear  and  its  equally  assuring  liquid  frontage,  was 
the  stronghold  and  home  of  that  little  tribe  of  Nipnet  In- 
dians called  the  Quinsigamonds,  the  constant  friends  of 
the  whites,  while  the  most  dreaded  among  the  sister  tribes 
of  New  England  for  their  courage,  skill,  and  warlike  pro- 
clivities. 

In  passing  up  the  precipitous  face  of  the  hill  we  have 
reached  an  altitude  of  perhaps  one  hundred  and  eighty 
feet.  In  looking  downward  you  scarcely  observe  that  bit 
of  green  plain  below  so  beautiful  to  you  at  first.  You 
are  impressed  that  your  standpoint  is  nearly  vertical  to 
and  overhangs  the  liquid  base,  and  the  more  so  because 
your  observation  is  momentarily  distracted  by  the  thousand 
charms  that  burst  upon  the  now  enraptured  sense  of  sight. 

It  is  a  moonlit  midnight  at  the  lake,  and  your  attention 
is  caught  up  by  the  shimmering,  glittering  surface  of  five 
miles  of  water,  rocked  into  semi- quiescence  by  the  languid 
south  wind  as  it  creeps  stealthily  up  the  valley  of  Quin- 
sigamond. 

The  moonlight,  hooded  now,  and  now  unmasked  by 
the  white,  swift-winged  aerial  scuds,  now  dances  up  and 
down  the  lake,  kisses  the  glowing  spaces,  and  in  its  fer- 
vency lights  fires  upon  the  opalescent  ruffle-crowns,  or 
gleams  in  rifts  and  patches  far  down  among  the  islands. 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  35 

At  the  time  of  which  we  write,  birch-bark  canoes  were 
gliding  in  and  out  of  those  deep  bays,  and  the  wild  geese, 
halting  in  their  angular  migrative  processions,  now  hissed 
in  the  shadows  of  pine  headlands,  or  rose  with  defiant 
honk,  upon  majestic  wing  as  the  whistling,  flint-headed 
bolt  stung  the  fluttering  gander  to  his  death.  Then  some 
fifty  tent-like  structures  made  of  poles  converging  upward 
from  the  base,  bound  together  at  the  top  with  walnut  withes 
and  covered  with  the  bark  of  the  white  birch,  might  have 
been  seen  on  the  little  plat,  and  up  and  down  among  the 
chestnut  trees  the  gleaming  white  of  other  wigwams 
assured  one  that  he  overlooked  an  Indian  town. 

On  this  night,  where  but  a  moment  ago  all  was  silent, 
we  hear  a  clattering  of  hoofs,  and  discern  dark  bodies 
moving  by  every  wigwam  and  coming  from  every  nook 
and  glen  for  fifty  yards  around  to  gather  about  the  mid- 
night rider  of  that  fretful  black  stallion,  for  it  is  he, 
and  the  quick  ears  of  the  Indians  had  heard  the  horse 
pounding  down  through  the  valley  after  leaving  the  bridle- 
road,  and  were  on  foot  to  greet  him.  No  beast  ever  bore 
a  more  welcome  visitor,  for  the  tribe  was  assuming  a 
condition  of  anxiety.  The  praying  Indians  had  played 
the  eavesdropper  and  brought  to  Wigwam  Hill,  in  broken, 
half-heard  sentences,  the  burden  of  the  white  men's  con- 
ference. Captain  John  they  could  trust ;  and  while  they 
half  feared  they  wholly  loved  him. 

He  had  halted  at  the  lodge  more  times  than  the  people 
of  the  plantation  dreamed  of. 

Dismounting,  the  rider  passed  the  rein  to  the  young 


36  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

bucks  who  were  only  too  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  handle 
and  caress  the  fiery  specimen  of  equine  beauty. 

The  last  to  approach,  although  the  first  afoot,  was  a 
tall  Indian  wrapped  in  a  bear-skin  blanket,  and  in  the 
uncertain  light  from  a  mottled  sky  in  a  moonlit  midnight, 
together  with  the  almost  wholly  mantled  figure,  even 
noting  his  great  height,  we  might,  but  for  the  verbal  salu- 
tation, fail  to  recognize  in  him  the  Chief  of  the  Hill  In- 
dians, Wandee  the  Quinsigamond. 

After  a  few  words  of  conversation,  conducted  chiefly 
on  the  part  of  the  captain,  he  touched  the  key  of  the 
main  subject. 

"  Wandee,  I  am  here  upon  a  very  important  matter." 

"Cap'n'shunt?" 

"  No;  not  my  hunt.     It  concerns  Wandee  most." 

"  Cap'n  guess  Wandee  no  take  care  heself?  " 

"  Not  so  much  that,  if  you  were  even-handed,  but  you 
are  not;  snares  are  set  for  you.  You  will  be  called  to 
answer  for  what  may  be  another's  fault,  a  mistake,  or  an 
accident,  and  I  came  to  serve  and  save  you  if  it  is  in  my 
power. ' ' 

"  Cap'n  John  save  strength,  save  breath,  Wandee  take 
care  Washakim. ' ' 

"No  doubt  of  that,  Wandee  ;  and  if  that  were  all,  I 
needn't  have  ridden  here  to-night." 

"  Ha!  me  know.     Ole  witch  say  all  tings." 

' '  Witch  or  no  witch,  Wan  dee,  you  can't  know  all.  Tell 
me  this,  for  time  flies.  It  will  soon  be  morning,  and  I 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  37 

must  ride  in  before  daylight.  We  shall  never  get  on  at 
this  rate.  Did  you  kill  Shonto  ? ' ' 

"Ha!  Cap'n  John,  me  kill  Shonto." 

"How?  and  why  did  you  kill  him,  Wandee?" 

"  What  for  you  know?     You  Shonto's  brudder?  " 

' '  No,  Wandee,  but  I  have  reasons  for  wanting  to  know 
about  it.  Tell  me,  if  you  will." 

"Me  no  care.  Shonto  dead.  Me  no  talk.  Squaw 
talk.  Squaw  cry,  me  no  cry;  me  glad,  you  guess." 

"Wandee,  we  have  hunted,  we  have  fished,  we  have 
camped  together.  Storms,  distance,  and  deep  snows  have 
been  nothing  to  us  so  we  might  tire  out  the  deer  that  had 
tipped  its  muzzle  in  defiance  to  white  hunter  and  his 
hounds.  Twice  you  have  stepped  between  me  and  certain 
death.  Once  by  Podunk,  and  once  near  'Bumskit,  when 
a  furious  bull  moose  had  me  under  his  sharp  feet.  And 
I  must  pay  the  debt.  Bull  moose  has  you  now,  Wandee. 
But  you  must  tell  me  all." 

"Cap'n  John,  Wandee  no  like  big  talk.  No  'fraid 
knife,  no  'fraid  tomahawk.  'Fraid  long  tongue." 

' '  But  this  is  my  battle,  now.  Bull  moose  has  you,  I 
say!  Talk,  and  I  will  save  you  if  I  can." 

"  Ha !  Cap'  n  John  fight  ?  Fight  white  brudder  ?  Fight 
own  men  ? ' ' 

' '  Yes,  Wandee.  But  I  shall  fight  with  my  tongue  this 
time.  Tell  me  all.  You  must  have  had  some  cause,  some 
provocation.  Say  how  it  was,  and  you  shall  see  whether 
I  will  fight." 

"Ha!  Cap'n  John  big  brave.     Got  sharp  tongue,  hit 


38  DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM. 

Injun  in  stomach.  Hit  bad,  make  Injun  feel  sick.  In- 
jun stan'  fire,  no  stan'  tongue.  Ha!  Injun  feel  pale. 
Cap'n  John,  me  kill  Shonto,  me  kill  two  Shonto,  me  like 
kill,  me  glad." 

' '  But  why  did  you  kill  him  ?  What  had  he  done  to 
you  ? ' ' 

"Shonto  say  kill  deer;  me  kill  deer.  Shonto  no  shoot. 
Me  shoot  deer.  Shonto  take  him;  me  take  deer,  too. 
Shonto  strike  tomahawk.  See  big  hole?"  (parting  the 
hair  on  his  scalp).  "Shonto  strike  'gain,  strike  knife. 
See  bosom  all  cut?"  (parts  the  bearskin  on  his  breast). 
"Big  bleed.  Me  kill  Shonto.  Me  glad.  Me  kill  any 
man  Great  Spirit  make  live  he  strike  Wandee.  Me  glad. 
Ha!  Big  talk  you  guess. " 

"  Wandee,  I  am  here  to-night  to  warn  you." 
"Warn!  Say 'gain!  Who  warn  Wandee ?" 
"Well;  we  won't  say  warn.  Say,  will  you  go  with  me  to 
the  plantation  on  Tuesday  of  next  week,  sun  up  two 
trees'  length  ?  I  will  come  and  go  in  with  you — the  whites 
think  you  murdered  Shonto,  that  is  that  you  killed  him 
for  some  grudge,  some  old  spite,  and  without  good  cause,  and 
they  wish  to  try  you  for  it  as  they  would  try  a  white  man 
for  some  bad  act;  nothing  else  will  satisfy  them.  They 
know  the  Washakims  are  ready  to  make  trouble  except 
you  are  tried  for  your  life,  for  they  think  we  instigated 
the  murder.  They  dare  not  face  the  Hill  Indians,  but 
they  will  murder  us,  or  some  of  us." 

"Ha!  White  man  love  Ian'.  Washakim  got  Ian'. 
White  man  love  Washakim." 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  39 

"Well,  Wandee,  we've  hardly  time  to  discuss  that 
now.  Go  with  me  at  the  time  named  and  I  will  promise 
at  least,  to  place  you  back  here  at  Wigwam  as  safe  and 
well-to-do  as  now;  for  if  they  convict  you,  you  shall 
appeal  and  I  will  act  as  surety  for  your  reappearance. 
They  '11  hardly  want  to  contend  against  me." 

Ha  !  Big  talk.  No  much  say,  all  talk.  Me  know. 
Me  hear.  Ole  squaw  make  big  fire.  Ole  witch  squaw 
what  you  call.  See  face  ole  warrior,  all  dead  long  time. 
Ole  warrior  talk.  Talk  in  tree,  me  no  un'stan',  squaw 
un'stan'.  Talk  low  down;  squaw  say  ole  warrior  talk 
in  ear  all  way  out  ole  squaw  mouth.  Say — white  man  want 
sell  Wandee,  buy  Ian'  up  Quinnapoxit.  Ha!  Ole  squaw 
live  two  places  all  same  time  ;  squaw  know,  you  guess." 

"Wandee,  you  know  Cap'n  John,  or  you  ought  to. 
He  has  promised  you,  will  you  go  with  him  ?  Or  are 
you  afraid  of  the  white  man  ? ' ' 

"Ha!  'Fraid?  Me  no  'fraid  bear.  Me  sleep,  me 
'fraid  bear.  Tell  white  man  come  fetch  Wandee.  Tell 
deacon  come.  Me  swap  scalp. ' ' 

"You  will  not  go,  then?  Is  that  your  answer, 
Wandee  ? 

"Ugh!  Yes,  me  go.  Deacon  talk — hell.  Talk  fire; 
me  no  care.  Bes'  keep  off  han's ;  me  make  hell  fire 
short  time.  You  guess.  Me  go,  Cap  'n  John." 

"All  right,  Wandee.  Sun  up  two  tree's  length.  I 
will  be  here. ' ' 

"Ha!  Bes'  go,  Cap'n  John.  Day  waking  up.  See! 
Stars  go  sleep  over  Quinsigamuck. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A   SABBATH    DAY   SERVICE. 

A  BEAUTIFUL  Sunday  morning  up  here  on  Sagatab- 
scot1  Hill.  Far  away  to  the  north,  in  the  blue  distance, 
we  see  that  paragon  of  fire-blown  symmetry,  the  leaden- 
hued  Wachusett,  and  over  the  mountain's  left  shoulder, 
craggy,  broken,  storm  racked, — gray  old  Monadnock 
shows  his  cleft  scalp  and  wrinkled  visage  dimly  in  the 
haze  of  a  New  Hampshire  sky. 

West  of  north  is  a  rich  confusion  of  November's 
foliage,  where  the  reddish  brown  of  the  mottled  oak 
mingles  with  the  deep  green  hemlock,  the  yellow  chest- 
nut leaf,  the  glowing  fire  of  scarlet  maple,  and  the  royal 
purple  of  the  lowly  sumach  in  a  rich  kaleidoscope.  It  is 
Asnebumskit  Hill. 

Due  west  is  Rattlesnake,2  and  beyond,  but  still  so 
much  in  the  foreground  as  to  make  its  color  definite,  are 
the  sombre  pines  of  Strawberry  Hill,8  an  emerald  set  in 
autumn's  aigrette  of  more  dazzling  jewels. 

This  great  log  cabin,  one  story  high,  with  floor  cut 
into  four  rooms,  windows  set  with  bull's-eye  glass, — 

1Sagatabscot  Hill  is  south  of  the  city  (approached  by  Vernon 
Street)  and  east  of  Packachoag  Hill. 
2  Rattlesnake  Hill. 
8  Leicester. 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  4! 

glass  five  by  seven,  an  inch  thick  in  the  middle,  and 
tapering  each  way  to  an  edge,  greenish  and  semi-trans- 
parent ;  roof  shingled  with  oaken  splits ;  this  is  Digory 
Sergent's  castle,— the  house  that  Digory  lives  in,  with 
the  wide  field  in  front  and  on  either  flank.  This  clearing, 
still  covered  with  stumps  five  feet  high  (for  the  trees 
were  cut  by  men  standing  on  the  crust  of  snow) ,  this,  one 
half  of  it,  is  Digory'scorn  field,  and  the  other  half,  cut  off 
from  the  corn  by  a  zig-zag  split  pole  fence,  is  his  hay  field. 

The  nine  rail  fence  around  the  cornfield  serves  to  keep 
the  deer  from  trampling  down  the  crop.  The  bears  will 
enter,  anyhow. 

There  is  that  monster  chimney,  but  all  the  houses  have 
such  ;  and  the  well-sweep,  but  that  is  common  also. 

Outside,  we  see  a  pile  of  logs,  and  one  of  limb  wood. 
Fifty  cords.  If  Digory  is  provident  or  frugal  with  that 
mass  of  wood  it  will  last  him  until  after  next  year's  hay- 
ing time. 

That  low  shed,  open  to  the  south  and  shingled  like  the 
house,  is  Digory 's  barn,  where  he  folds  his  live  stock. 
The  hay  he  stacks  near  by.  The  five  tons  of  mixed 
timothy  and  swale,  with  the  seventy  bushels  of  corn  in 
bin,  will  carry  his  horses  and  four  head  of  neat  stock 
"  through,"  if  the  Indians  do  not  kill  Digory  and  drive 
the  ' '  critters ' '  off. 

The  fine  matronly  woman  at  the  door  is  Mrs.  Sergent, 
and  by  her  side  the  sweetest  pair  of  little,  pouting  lips 
and  large  blue  eyes.  Seven  years  old,  is  that  little  girl, 
Netty,  of  the  pouting  lips  and  blue  eyes. 


42  DOOM    OF    WASHAKIM. 

Coming  from  the  milking  shed,  the  "  len-ter,"  from 
the  barn,  that  superb  specimen  of  womanhood  turned  the 
first  corner,  is  Martha.  It  is  time  to  begin  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  the  family. 

That  seventeen  years  old  lass,  less  stately,  less  mature 
than  Martha,  she  with  a  face  bright  as  the  sunlit  frost- 
cicles  on  the  trees  after  a  winter's  rain  storm,  and  with  a 
step  so  graceful,  so  like  a  swan  upon  the  water — Did  you 
ever  see  a  ghost  ?  There  are  such  things,  and  they  are  quite 
as  real  as  the  grosser  forms  of  materiality  they  represent. 
Ghosts  seem  to  glide,  to  swim,  to  float.  But  this  was  no 
ghost,  and  yet  it  had  a  ghost's  prime  attributes:  the 
ethereal  grace,  the  soundless  tread,  and  all  that  awe-in- 
spiring yet  fascinating  presence.  This  is  Susan,  second 
daughter  of  Digory  Sergent.  She  who  owns  the  best 
library  in  the  plantation.  She  is  just  from  school  in 
Boston. 

But  here  comes  Sergent  from  the  stable  with  the  horses. 
Sergent  is  a  man  of  sixty  years,  hair  tinged  with  gray, 
thick  necked,  wide  shoulders,  heavy  set,  and  very 
erect  carriage.  He  is  a  bold,  brave  man.  Too  brave. 
A  man  may  be  brave  to  temerity.  But  Digory  had  cleared 
much  land,  had  ploughed  acres  not  a  few,  and  neither 
white  nor  red  man  should  dispossess  him  of  the  benefits 
of  six  years'  toil. 

Stand  to  it,  Digory!  but  keep  your  powder  dry,  and 
your  Sabbaths  holy,  and  omit  no  prayers,  for  an  old  witch 
squaw  has  cast  your  horoscope,  and  from  the  vapors  of  a 
brew  she  saw  a  white  arm  stretched,  and  beckoning,  and 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  43 

heard  a  woman's  voice  whisper,  "Come,  Digory."  It 
may  mean  nothing,  but  the  white  women  of  the  planta- 
tion take  counsel  of  that  squaw;  and  so,  Digory,  did  your 
first  wife.  The  men  all  say  "  she  is  possessed,"  and  were 
she  white  would  burn  her  at  the  stake,  but  the  women 
court  her  by  stealth,  and,  without  naming  it,  regard  her 
as  a  seer. 

Two  horses  now  stand  at  Sergent's  door,  and  on  the 
back  of  each  a  saddle  and  a  pillion.  Sergent  and  wife 
step  from  a  horse-block  and  seat  themselves  upon  one. 
Martha  takes  the  bridle  seat  upon  the  other,  while  Susan, 
the  tall,  yellow-haired  girl  with  full,  fair  cheeks — red 
cheeks — red  with  mantling  blood,  red  with  the  wind  and 
sun,  pats  the  neck  of  the  horse,  and  half  laughing,  half 
imploring,  says:  "Now  Martha,  you  might  let  me  hold 
the  rein  on  Jenny  this  one  Sabbath  morning.  You  know 
I  ride  well  enough.  Didn't  I  ride  black  Pompey  up  to 
Strawberry  Hill?  And  John  said  I  rode  splendidly. 
You  older  sisters  always  want  to  lead  off.  It's  only 
vanity.  I  don't  think  I  should  care  so  much  for  at- 
tention. ' ' 

"  Come,  come,  Susan.  Do  seat  yourself  and  take  the 
baby  up  behind  you." 

"Did  you  ever?  You  needn't  call  me  the  baby.  I  've 
just  a  good  mind  not  to  go  now;  Ma  says  I'm  a  little  lady, 
I'm  seven  years  old  next  Christmas." 

"And  so  you  are  a  lady,  Netty;  she  should  not  call 
you  the  baby.  But  you  can  pay  her  off  by  and  by.  Folks 


44  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

get  to  be  old  maids  sometimes,"  said  Susan,  laughing  at 
the  shade  of  chagrin  that  seemed  to  follow  the  sally. 

"  You  needn't  teach  her  that  now,  Susan.  The  I/ord 
knows  it  will  come  to  her  soon  enough.  One  must  always 
be  either  too  young  or  too  old  in  these  little  communities. 
I  wish  we  had  stayed  in  Boston.  There  now,  just  take 
your  seat.  The  parson  will  call  our  names  in  meeting  if 
we  are  late  again." 

Susan  sprang  from  the  horse-block  to  her  seat  on  the 
pillion,  took  the  child  up  behind  her,  and  away  they  gal- 
loped toward  the  little  village  on  the  Bimelick,  and  the 
site  of  the  Castle. 

"Now  don't  you  run  so  fast,  Martha.  Hold  on  tight, 
Sue.  Oh,  m}'!  How  it  jounces!  "  and  the  child  kept  on 
babbling  as  they  galloped  down  the  bridle-path,  forded  the 
Bimelick  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  sailed  away  in  all 
the  splendor  of  gay  colored  ribbons,  whitened  straw,  and 
whiter  home-spun  linen, — for  society  at  its  outposts,  and  in 
that  far-off  day,  had  not  merged  into  the  wild  extrava- 
gancies of  costly  calicoes  at  seventy  pence  per  yard. 
China  and  the  far  East  nearly  or  quite  monopolized  such 
delicacies  as  tea  and  coffee,  and  draperies  superb  as  cotton 
print. 

Some  visiting  English  lord  might  donate  to  the  gover- 
nor's wife  a  calico  dress  pattern,  and  she  in  turn  might 
draw  from  the  hidden  treasures  of  her  locker  a  steeping 
of  celestial  herbs.  Even  others,  well-to-do,  might  have 
in  some  deep  recess  of  an  oaken  chest  a  metal  case  her- 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  45 

metically  sealed,  wherein  was  lodged  a  pound  of  tea  to 
serve  the  rare  occasions  of  a  life-time. 

Our  party  had  reached  the  plain,  after  crossing  the 
river,  when  a  magnificent  black  horse,  nervously  tossing 
head  and  mane,  wheeled  into  line  with  the  staid  mare 
Jenny,  and  as  the  two  animals  bounded  along  the  double 
pathway,  the  rider  of  the  black  relieved  the  pillion  of  the 
baby,  who  in  high  glee  over  the  apparent  preference  in 
her  favor,  hailed  her  sister  from  her  airy  perch  upon  the 
stallion's  withers:  "  Good-bye,  Sue!  I  and  John  is  goin' 
to  meetin'." 

The  party  is  doing  well,  and  we  have  other  matters 
that  demand  attention. 

Inside  the  stockade,  sheltered  from  the  wind,  you 
might  have  seen  thirty  saddled  horses — saddled,  and  pill- 
ion ed  for  the  most  part — while  in  the  Castle,  the  place  of 
meeting,  on  one  side  were  some  forty  bare  head  farmers 
standing,  and  upon  the  other  side,  their  wives  and  chil- 
dren seated  upon  chestnut  slabs  arranged  on  wooden 
horses,  listened  to  the  Word  of  God  as  expounded  by 
Calvin,  with  Parson  Meekman  for  a  proxy. 

Upon  an  elevated  platform,  some  three  feet  raised  above 
the  earthen  floor,  were  a  dozen  praying  Packachoags,  and 
standing  by  them  mutely  meek  and  shy,  as  best  becomes 
(I  speak  the  then  prevailing  sentiment)  the  black  slaves, 
whom  God  hath  ordained  from  all  eternity  to  be  the 
helpers  of  his  chosen  people,  were  black  Jake's  wife,  and 
children  half  a  score.  And  in  a  far  corner,  as  if  un- 
worthy (in  their  own  conceit)  here  in  the  house  of  the 


46  DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM. 

Most  High,  to  risk  attention  by  their  non-conformity,  two 
gentle  Quakers  with  their  meek-browed  offspring,  sat 
covered,  waiting  for  that  still,  small  voice — the  spirit 
which  is  within  them. 

It  is  hardly  competent  here  to  give  even  the  gist  of  the 
inevitable  sermon.  The  congregation,  poor  souls,  creed- 
bound  were  chained  by  dogmas  which  to  them  seemed 
stronger  than  if  made  of  triple  brass.  And  yet  those 
same  meek  bondmen  as  they  were,  were  haughty  in  their 
independence;  owned  nothing  short  of  Deity  their  born 
superiors,  and  would  spurn  with  foot  a  king's  commis- 
eration. They  bowed  to  God  and  to  God  only.  But  it 
was  the  God  of  Abraham,  Isaac  and  Jacob,  and  this 
worship,  so  far  from  being  to  and  of  the  God  manifest, 
was  narrowed  down  to  a  creed. 

Perhaps  I  may  with  propriety,  as  we  are  here  searching 
for  truths  over  which  the  moss  and  rime  of  centuries  are 
gathering,  perhaps  I  may  say,  that  the  glorious  incan- 
descence of  that  state  where  justice  purges  without  puri- 
fying, where  caloric  consumption  is  neither  annihilation 
nor  transmutation,  where  the  worm,  forever  dying,  dies 
not,  where  the  frightful  horrors  of  retribution  for  unbelief 
add  ecstacies  of  delight  to  the  regenerate  soul  of  whom  it 
was  decreed  from  the  foundations  of  the  world  ' '  Enter 
thou  into  the  joys  of  thy  Lord,"  as  that  soul  peers  from 
the  bosom  of  hoary  contentment  across  the  gulf  to  mock 
at  the  soul  of  misfortunes — was  fully  and  elaborately  de- 
picted to  passive,  creed-bound  acquiescence,  save,  perhaps, 
in  the  minds  of  the  loving  and  kindly  Quakers,  and  of 


DOOM   OP   WASHAKIM.  47 

two  young  men,  one  of  whom  did  not  care  the  snap  of 
his  riding  whip  what  should  come  of  to-morrow,  so  to-day 
was  enjoy  ably  spent,  and  the  other,  who  had  been  taught 
in  the  broadest  school  of  religious  thought,  where  science 
and  philosophy  were  admitted  to  be  the  keys  which  must 
finally  unlock  eternal  verities. 

The  pastor  had  given  out  his  text:  "And  the  heathen 
will  I  give  thee  for  an  inheritance,  and  the  uttermost  parts 
of  the  earth  for  a  possession."  And  after  dilating  upon 
the  beauties  of  the  system  inaugurated  by  Moses  for  the 
chosen  people  of  God,  a  system  by  which  was  demon- 
strated the  Divinity  of  Jehovah  through  an  industrious 
application  of  the  persuasive  elements  of  fire  and  sword, 
even  to  the  cutting  off  of  every  male  thing  that  lived 
among  such  of  the  wicked  idolaters  as  dared  lift  hand  in 
defense  of  country  and  home  ;  and  after  making  his 
identity  so  throughly  manifest,  as  must  needs  appear 
when  he  ordered  the  slaughter  of  infants  and  mothers, 
decreeing  of  the  virgins  that  to  the  victors  belonged  the 
spoils,  to  the  end  that  the  chosen  should  raise  up  only 
such  seed  as  was  after  His  own  heart, — after  so  reasonably 
expounding  the  Scriptures  in  general,  and  the  text  in 
particular,  as  to  make  it  glowingly  apparent  that  the 
glory  of  God  is  measurably  enhanced  by  the  utter  dis- 
comfiture of  His  enemies,  and  that  enmity  to  God  con- 
sists chiefly  in  the  failure  to  believe  that  the  children  of 
Israel  were  of  all  men  best  qualified  to  fix  His  identity, 
he  proceeded  by  numbered  paragraphs  or  sections, 
through  the  "fourthly,"  and  up  to  the  "tenthly," 


48  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

"lastly"  and  "conclusively,"  each  of  which  might  be 
called  ah  able  paraphrase  of  the  section  preceding,  and 
at  last  came  down  upon  his  "  finally  "  with  a  peroration 
irresistibly  convincing,  even  if  it  were  not  logically 
correct. 

"And  now,  my  dear  hearers,  since  it  is  patent  to  your 
minds  that  the  God  of  Abraham,  Isaac  and  Jacob,  did, 
aforetime,  through  the  mouth  of  his  chosen  prophet, 
declare  that  he  would  give  them,  you,  his  chosen  people, 
anywhere,  everywhere,  in  all  time  to  come  (for,  my  be- 
loved hearers  its  application  is  universal  among  the  elect. 
Hath  He  not  said,  '  In  me  there  is  no  change,  nor  shadow 
of  turning'  ?),  that  He  would  give  to  His  people,  the 
heathen  for  an  inheritance,  and  the  uttermost  parts  of  the 
earth  for  a  possession?  And  inasmuch  as  he  enjoined 
upon  you  to  'cry  aloud  and  spare  not,'  which  command 
is,  by  the  way,  peculiarly  applicable  to  the  present  con- 
dition of  this  plantation,  and  by  numberless  examples 
instigated  you,  His  people,  to  sweep  His  enemies  from  the 
face  of  the  earth  with  the  besom  of  destruction,  you  can 
but  confess  that  it  is  conspicuously  clear  that  two  things 
lie  palpably  within  the  province  of  your  earthly  mission, 
to  wit:  First  to  declare  the  Word,  and  to  baptize  with 
water  such  as  cheerfully  acknowledge  God  and  accept  the 
atonement.  Secondly:  To  fall  upon  such  as  persistently 
turn  to  their  idols  and  smite  them  with  the  jaw-bone  of 
retributive  justice. 

' '  But,  my  dear  hearers,  this  must  not,  just  at  this  time, 
be  taken  in  literal  acceptation,  for  here  we  have  no  Moses 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  49 

to  direct  and  no  Joshua  to  lead,  while  the  heathen,  in 
league  with  the  powers  of  darkness,  are  numerous  as  the 
sands  of  the  sea- shore.  Nevertheless,  my  brethren,  it  is 
our  manifest  duty  to  labor  assiduously  in  the  field  to  the 
harvesting  of  souls  until,  through  the  fullness  of  time 
and  the  ripeness  of  opportunity,  we  may  separate  the 
wheat  and  burn  the  impious  chaff  of  idolatry,  to  the 
infinite  exaltation  and  glory  of  God." 

A  touching  benediction,  in  which  the  preacher — human 
— stooped  from  the  threatening  cloud  of  Mosaic  jurispru- 
dence, and  in  seeming  metamorphose,  gathered  in  his 
loving  arms  those  same  idolaters,  as  he  melted  from  the  icy 
horrors  of  Israelitish  precept  and  example  into  familiar 
rapport  with  the  tender  and  forgiving  sweetness  of  Him 
who  said, — "Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labor  and  are 
heavy  laden  and  I  will  give  you  rest. ' ' 

Divine  services  ended  for  the  day  and  the  farmers 
gathered  into  little  knots,  dispersed  anon,  and  grouped 
again.  A  shadow  of  uneasiness  was  over  them.  They 
must  and  would  discuss  the  merits  of  that  sermon,  for 
although  the  colonists  were,  as  a  rule,  bigoted  to  a  degree, 
and  measurably  creed-bound;  though  their  whole  faith 
rested  upon  God  and  the  Scriptural  teachings;  yet  in  no 
sense  would  they  accept  the  interpretation  of  a  fellow, 
whether  he  be  ordained  or  not,  except  so  far  as  each  in- 
dividual judgment  weighed  the  substance  of  a  proposition, 
or  conclusion,  and  mentally  resolved  its  own  verdict. 

The  farmers  stood  upon  uncertain  ground.  Their 
preacher  had  maddened  them  by  a  sense  of  injustice, 
4 


5O  DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM. 

as  by  imprecation  he  had  invoked  cruelty,  and  by 
instigation  had  prompted  its  execution  upon  unde- 
serving ignorance.  But  what  about  that  benediction,  so 
Christ-like  in  its  wide-spreading  charity  ? 

"  Our  parson  is  a  standing  riddle,  an  enigma;  but  there 
is  more  to  this  than  he  gives  out,"  said  Deacon  Henchman 
to  a  group  of  farmers. 

Our  parson  had  scented  blood — had  peered  into  the 
future,  aided  or  unaided,  and  had  chilled  beneath  a  cloud 
of  undefined  disasters.  Men  must  be  stirred.  It  mattered 
yet  but  little  for  direction.  The  hot  blood  that  waits  upon 
emotion  is  not  soon  cooled,  but  is  ready  to  leap  to  action 
at  a  moment's  call. 

Perhaps  no  body  of  citizens  of  any  country  were  ever 
so  purely  self-reliant  as  that  early  stock  of  English,  Irish, 
and  Scotch  who,  in  the  name  of  God,  unfurled  the  banner 
of  religious  freedom  over  the  new  world.  Perhaps  no 
community  of  men  ever  so  soon  forgot  the  bitter  lessons 
of  intolerance,  and  bequeathed  to  their  children  the 
merciless  rancor  themselves  had  fled  from. 

Pity  that  those  who  claimed  for  themselves  the  largest 
religious  liberty,  could  not  have  accorded  to  Baptist, 
Quaker,  and  Papist  as  much.  But  other  than  what 
ensued  could  not  reasonably  have  been  expected  :  for 
individual,  sect,  or  class  power,  unrestrained  by  compact 
or  constitution,  inevitably  merges  into  intolerance  and 
oppression.  And  this  colony,  so  far  removed  from 
motherland  that  she  dared  believe  in,  if  not  yet  openly 
declare  her  independence,  and  shackled  by  no  legal 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  51 

enactments  of  her  own  devising,  none  but  what  she 
inwardly  scorned,  became,  in  matters  out  of  statute,  a 
law  unto  herself  and  answerable  only  to  a  transient  wave 
of  public  prejudice  or  opinion. 

Deacon  Henchman  accosted  Rice  of  Packachoag: 

"How  did  you  like  it,  Gershom?  Did  n't  he  make  it 
pretty  evident  that  we  ought  to  take  the  intervales? 
Don't  you  call  it  sound  doctrine,  Gershom?" 

"It  may,  perhaps,  be  sound  doctrine,  but  its  mighty 
lame  justice;  and  then  again,  the  pastor  turned  a  somer- 
sault in  that  benediction  of  his'n.  I  don't  quite  catch  his 
drift." 

"But  don't  you  take  into  account  the  admonition  to 
cry  aloud  and  spare  not  ?  That  means  preach  first  and 
then  sacrifice." 

"  Yes,  Deacon,  and  I  bring  to  mind  another:  '  Do  unto 
others  ' — you  remember  the  rest,  Deacon." 

' '  But  the  promise,  you  know,  Gershom — the  promise 
of  inheritance.  Its  application  seems  unmistakable, 
and  the  word  has  gone  out.  It  leaves  us  simple 
instruments  in  His  hands ;  we  obey  the  injunction 
and  assume  no  part  of  the  responsibility.  This  is 
God's  warfare,  Gershom.  We  are  pitted  against  His 
enemies,  and  whether  we  unfurl  the  banner  in  the 
name  of  God  or  country,  the  enemy  is  no  longer  ours 
but  His,  or  its,  and  we  absolve  ourselves  of  end  and  con- 
sequences under  the  solemn  badge  of  duty.  And  don't 
you  remember  how  it  was  declared  that  '  to  him  that 
hath  shall  be  given,  and  from  him  that  hath  not  shall  be 


52  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

taken,  even  that  which  he  hath?'  Truly,  Greshom,  this 
thing  seems  to  have  been  foreordained. ' ' 

"  But  I  read,  too,"  said  Gershom,  "  'Feed  my  sheep,' 
and  these  'ere  Injuns  are  mighty  nigh  onto  starvin',  since 
the  great  drought.  Mebbe  you  don't  reckon  them  of  the 
flock,  but  I  take  it  they  're  men  jest  the  same." 

"Thee's  right,  friend  Gershom,"  broke  in  Danson, 
the  Quaker;  "if  God  so  loved  the  world  that  He  gave 
His  only  begotten  Son,  that  all  through  Him  might  be 
saved,  shall  we  horrify  Him  by  rapine  and  slaughter  per- 
petrated upon  His  children?  What  sa}?'st  thou,  friend 
Jeems?" 

"Is  it  me  yer  askin' ?  Well  sir,  I,  Jim  Pike,  afore 
God  (if  there  is  any),  give  it  as  my  outspoken  opinion 
that  jestice  is  jestice,  whether  the  subject 's  a  nigger  or  an 
Injun.  But  'bout  that  ar'  'tenement  business  I  can't 
say;  I  don't  take  much  stock  in  it.  'Pears  like  ter  me  the 
Creator  must  ha'  been  hard  up  for  kalkerlation,  if  He 
couldn't  git  up  a  better  scheme 'n  that  ter  k' rect  His 
own  mistakes  with.  Mebbe 'ts  because  I  hain'  t  got  much 
larnin'." 

"  Tut,  tut!  Jeems.  Thee's  wandering  from  the  subject, 
Jeems. ' ' 

"  You  're  an  infidel,  Jim.  Yer  sentiments  are  all  right, 
Jim,  till  you  strike  scripter'  an'  then  yer  'way  off.  But 
about  this  business,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Gershom  Rice, 
I  'm  mighty  glad  I  hain' t  been  much  exposed  ter  the 
weather  without  my  hat,  if  a  tanned  hide  disqualifies  a 
man  either  for  a  free  existence  or  for  holdin'  property. 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  53 

Some  er  you  fellers  'd  be  wantin'  Packachoag  if  ye 
happened  to  catch  me  off  color.  I  bought  Packachoag  of 
sober  Injuns  and  I  paid  'em  the  price,  an'  so  sure  as  I'm 
an  honest  white  man  I  can't  see  but  their  title  to  what 
they  have  left  is  jest  as  good  an'  clear  as  mine.  I  '11  help 
ye  buy  on  'em  Deacon,  but  I  won't  rob  'em  ?  I  lived  a 
leetle  better  'n  two  year1  with  them  critters  afore  one  on 
yer  come  ter  keep  me  company,  and  I  've  got  a  whole 
scalp  yit.  They  've  kep'  faith  with  me,  and  I  will  with 
them.  I  tell  ye,  Deacon,  that  barrin'  the  matter  of  edica- 
tion,  that  Wigwam  Hill  chief  that  we  're  agoin'  ter  try  for 
murder,  is  the  ekil  of  any  on  us,  an'  he's  ter  be  trusted, 
too,  if  ye  treat  him  right." 

"  Well,  well,  Gershom,  we  won't  dispute  about  it.  I 
want  to  be  just  as  I  hope  to  be  judged.  But  I'm  mighty 
'fraid  these  Injuns  will  plant  corn  on  the  Quinnapoxit  'till 
Gabriel  blows. ' ' 

"  And  so  they  may  for  all  I  care,  if  they'll  only  be 
civil.  When  they  make  a  fuss  it'll  be  time  enough  for 
us  to  make  reprisals.  When  they  really  deserve  floggin' , 
yer  may  count  on  me  ter  help  give  'em  Joshua.  But  it 's 
nigh  on  ter  milkin'  time  an'  I  've  got  better 'n  four  mile 
ter  ride,  so  good  evenin'  to  ye." 

Many  of  the  church  goers  were  now  in  saddle.  Digory 
Sergent  and  his  wife  were  mounted,  and  Digory,  just  be- 
fore punching  his  boot  heels  into  the  mare's  flank,  called 
out,  "Deacon,  why  don't  you  an'  Gershom  git  on  an' 

1Greshom  Rice  was  the  first  permanent  white  settler  in  the 
plantation,  and  lived  there,  alone,  for  two  years. 


54  DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM. 

canter  up  ter  Sagatabscot  now  an'  then?  Ye '11  allus  git 
wild  turkey  or  venison  for  dinner.  They  dew  say  that 
all  the  game  ye  git  down  here  in  the  settlement  's  wood- 
chucks. ' ' 

Gershom  was  just  on  the  move  when  Digory's  sally 
brought  him  to  a  halt,  as  also  Curtis,  Payne,  and  several 
more  of  the  Hill  dwellers.  The  opportunity  to  chaff  the 
lowlanders  was  quite  too  good  to  be  lost,  but  with  a  little 
bantering,  and  a  semi-derisive  smile  they  bade  them  good 
night,  and  galloped  along  their  divergent  bridle-ways  to 
their  airy  perches  among  the  hills. 

Martha  was  now  at  mount  upon  the  docile  Jenny,  and 
Netty's  two  arms  were  firmly  embracing  her  waist,  while 
her  too  short  legs  ran  straight  out  upon  the  pillion,  not 
long  enough  to  bend  at  the  knees  over  its  edge. 

"You  don't  like  me  any  more,  John,"  she  said,  as 
she  saw  Susan  usurp  her  place  upon  the  back  of  Pompey. 

Pompey  was  now  leisurely  loping  along  the  bridle-path, 
where  now  is  Main  Street,  tossing  his  head  and  toying 
with  his  bit,  as  the  loose  rein  dangled  about  the  serpentine 
grace  of  his  beautiful  neck.  The  sober  Sabbath  afternoon 
seemed  to  have  infused  something  of  its  properly  peaceful 
quiet  into  the  usually  turbulent  temper  of  the  fiery  beast. 

' '  How  did  you  like  the  preaching,  John  ? ' '  asked  Su- 
san, as  soon  as  a  little  familiarity  with  the  horse's  gait 
assured  her  of  a  firm  seat.  She  had  ridden  the  horse 
before,  but  it  was  to  the  saddle,  and  a  pillion  seat  over 
the  hauiiches  is  quite  another  matter. 

"  I  can't  say  I  admired  it,  Sue.     In  fact  I  rarely  pay 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  55 

much  attention  to  what  he  says.  Of  course  1  must  attend 
church  service,  out  of  respect  to  my  neighbors'  prejudices, 
and  to  feign  regard  for  their  stable  opinions  I  usually  re- 
frain from  argument,  or  even  comment." 

The  quasi  deception  may  not  seem  commendable,  but  is  it 
not  better  than  to  disturb  settled  and  satisfying  convictions 
with  no  hope  of  leaving  anything  in  place  of  a  broken  idol 
but  a  painful  uncertainty  ?  It  may  be  prudent  enough  with 
young  lives  where  there  is  promise  of  time  sufficient  for 
unravelling  and  reweaving  the  web  of  a  prejudiced  faith, 
to  speak  plainly,  but  with  older  people  the  result,  if  results 
follow,  are  rarely  satisfactory. 

' '  Parson  Meekman  appeals  too  much  to  the  passions 
and  too  little  to  the  intellect  to  please  me.  He  seems  a 
strange  compound  of  contradictory  qualities.  In  the  pul- 
pit he  is  rash,  impetuous  and  extravagant,  while  as  a 
citizen  he  is  cool,  calculating,  politic  and  conservative. 
He  is  often  eloquent  and  always  courageous.  A  natural 
orator  and  a  born  fighter.  Good  properties  for  outlying 
districts  like  this. ' ' 

"Pa  did  n't  like  him  at  all,  to-day,  I'm  sure.  It  is 
easy  to  know  when  he  is  crossed. ' ' 

"The  parson's  pulpit  methods  are  not  calculated  to 
foster  good  feeling  among  the  Indians,  and  by  creating 
discontent  among  them  he  seriously  compromises  the 
safety  of  the  plantation.  You  saw  those  praying  Indians 
in  the  slave  box  and  by  the  door;  and  you  may  think  that 


56  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

because  they  pray  they  are  sealed  to  their  religious 
teachers,  and  so  eminently  trustworthy.  But  I  can  tell 
you  they  talk  as  well  as  pray,  and  the  matter  of  this 
afternoon's  discourse  will  be  rehearsed  in  every  body  of 
the  Nipnets,  from  Lancaster  to  Brookfield,  before  the  sun 
sets  twice.  Pity  he  must  lose  his  caution  when  he  looses 
his  tongue. ' ' 

But  something  is  happening  at  the  Lake.  The  birch 
canoes  come  up  by  dozens  from  the  extreme  south.  Some- 
thing is  strange  in  the  color  of  their  wampum,  something 
unlike  the  quartz  and  colored  pebble  beads  of  the  Nipnets. 
They  are  made  up  of  minute  sea  shells  and  the  little  pearls 
of  the  native  fresh  water  clam.  They  row  with  the  double 
bladed  paddle.  Their  head  gear  is  unlike  anything  in  all 
the  Nipnet  country .  It  seems  a  coronet  of  plumes  rich 
with  the  dissolving  hues  of  the  wild  turkey's  bronze,  the 
yellow  breast  of  meadow  lark  and  the  red  fire  of  the 
tanager.  Some  of  the  rowers  now  and  then  suspend  their 
labors  to  converse  in  abbreviated  utterances  and  hasty 
gesticulations.  Their  arms  and  faces  are  ablaze  with 
war-paint,  and  their  short,  leathern  hip  -  skirts  are  deeply 
fringed  and  ornate  with  blue  and  red  upon  the  pale  yellow 
ground  of  tanned  buckskin. 

One,  who  seems  by  general  aspect,  want  of  occupation, 
dress  and  demeanor,  a  chief  among  them,  sits  idly  in  a 
birch  bark  bow,  elbow  resting,  chin  placed  in  open  palm, 
and  looking  steadily  up  the  lake,  occasionally  shading  his 
eyes  from  the  glare  of  a  setting  sun  ;  always  silent,  and 


DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM.  57 

always  peering  northward  toward  Wigwam  Hill,  which 
looms  up  a  murky  mass  against  the  glowing  concave  of 
a  sunset  sky.  In  the  great  gold  buckle  of  his  scarlet 
coronet  is  a  long,  black  eagle's  plume.  Let  Black  Pom- 
pey  walk  or  trot  to  Sagatabscot;  we  must  see  who  comes 
to  Wigwam  Hill. 


CHAPTER  V. 

KING   PHILIP   AT   THE   NIPNET   LODGE. 

UNDER  the  black  crags  that  form  the  face  of  Wigwam 
Hill  upon  the  lake  side,  upon  the  little  lawn  at  its  foot, 
the  permanent  camping  ground  of  that  branch  of  the 
Nipnets,  were  as  has  been  said  some  fifty  wigwams,  while 
scattered  in  among  the  chestnuts,  to  north  and  south, 
from  Coal  Mine  Brook  to  the  foot  of  that  steep  descending 
line  of  boulders,  were  other  wigwams  and  tent-like  struc- 
tures, making  an  aggregate  of  ninety  lodges. 

Indians  in  different  parts  of  North  America,  although 
they  followed  the  same  general  design  in  the  construction 
of  their  habitations,  that  of  planting  poles  in  the  earth  to 
form  a  circle,  and  gathering  them  together  near  the  top 
in  shape  of  a  double  cone  with  the  lesser  above,  and  in- 
verted, varied  widely  in  the  material  used. 

The  Indians  of  the  west  availed  themselves  of  the  skins 
of  the  buffalo,  so  easily  obtainable  and  so  readily  adjusted 
to  form  a  covering  which  should  break  the  wind,  confine 
the  heat  and  exclude  the  snow  and  rain,  while  those  of 
the  east  and  north,  where  no  animals  larger  than  the  deer 
(if  we  except  the  moose  and  caribou  which  were  never 
plenty)  were  to  be  found,  devised,  though  with  greater 
labor,  a  much  cleaner  and  more  durable  covering  by  strip- 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  59 

ping  the  bark  entire  from  the  large  white  birches,  then 
common  throughout  the  north,  and  applying  it  while 
green  and  easily  manipulated. 

The  white  birch  was  also  utilized  in  the  construction  of 
vessels  for  containing  water,  both  hot  and  cold,  for  in 
their  rude  culinary  operations  they  were  in  the  every-day 
habit  of  heating  stones  to  redness  and  dropping  them  into 
water  vessels,  and  so  continuing  until  the  meat  or  roots 
were  reduced  to  a  consistency  suited  to  their  palates. 

They  also  wrought  the  birch  bark  in  its  fullness, 
as  stripped  from  the  tree,  into  canoes,  airy  as  the 
shell  of  the  nautilus,  and  in  striking  contrast  with  the 
clumsy  southern  dugout  or  the  still  ruder  skin  canoes  of 
the  western  tribes. 

So  artistic  were  these  northern  Indians  in  fashioning 
the  bark  canoe,  with  its  ashen  framework  of  bows  scarcely 
thicker  than  the  bark  itself,  its  graceful,  up-curving  ends, 
its  ornate  trimmings  in  highly  colored  deer's  hide  and 
porcupine  quills  (for  they  were  adepts  in  the  manufacture 
of  gaudy-hued  pigments),  the  carvings  in  the  outer  rind 
which  left  a  scar  that  soon  turned  black,  showing  the 
design,  always  graceful,  in  strong  contrast  with  the  snow- 
white  ground,  together  with  its  exceeding  lightness,  they 
produced  a  craft  which  floated  on  the  water,  beautiful  and 
buoyant  as  the  white  vapor  that  cloaks  the  lake,  or  dallies 
with  soft  breezes  in  shreds,  patches  and  ghost-like  columns, 
idly  wandering  along  the  liquid  floor,  or  waltzing  to  a 
ripple  of  the  wind  in  an  autumn  sunrise. 

Here  in  sight,  as  we  stand  upon  the  summit  of  the  hill 


6O  DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM. 

in  this  year  of  our  I^ord  seventeen  hundred  one,  fifty  and 
more  of  the  birchen  canoes,  white  as  the  snows  of  winter 
unpolluted  by  the  mud  and  slush  of  civilization,  glare 
from  the  blackness  of  the  mountain's  shadow  as  the  last 
ruddy  glow  of  sunset  dissolves  in  the  leaden  hue  of  night. 

To  the  north,  between  the  enormous  trunks  of  chestnuts 
that  have  shed  their  autumn  harvests  for  two  centuries  of 
time,  and  to  the  south  under  those  dismally  black  hem- 
locks— the  great-grand  nephews  of  which  are  thereabout 
to-day — the  wigwams,  half  discernible,  seem  to  glide  about 
and  gibber  like  spirits  flitting  among  the  gloomy  shadows. 

Within  them  the  small  boys,  the  male  pappooses,  twelve 
years  old  and  under,  are  dreaming  of  sunshine  and  gay 
feathers,  and  of  bright  wampum  beads  upon  the  naked 
bosoms  of  the  mother  squaw,  dreaming  of  the  little  bow 
and  quiver,  of  mimic  tomahawk  and  fish  spear;  dreaming 
of  tales  of  filing  through  distant,  unknown,  pathless  woods, 
with  star  guides  for  the  night,  with  moss  and  wind- warped 
trees  to  lead  them  in  the  day  to  where  at  midnight  some 
sleeping  foe  is  waiting  to  be  scalped.  But  the  squaws 
and  the  old  men  (there  were  never  many  of  the  last;  they 
always  managed  to  make  their  exit  just  when  their  use- 
fulness was  over),  the  squaws,  and  the  old  men,  and  that 
old  squaw,  the  inevitable  ' '  she ' '  who  is  half  devil  and 
half  sorceress  ;  half  human  and  all  witch ;  she  who 
has  outlived  her  generation  and,  half  oblivious  of  the 
present,  looks  wisely  into  the  future  while  dwelling  in  the 
past.  Every  community  has  them;  they  sit  at  pianos  and 
at  milking-stools,  in  palaces  and  huts  of  mud.  They 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  6 1 

dream  by  daylight  and  practice  occultism  at  evening  with 
the  lights  turned  down;  can  turn  a  tea  cup  or  a  card  to 
your  bewilderment,  read  horoscopes  in  the  abstruse  let- 
tering of  your  palm,  brew  specifics  from  unthought  of 
weeds,  or  say  to  you  "  take  up  thy  bed  and  walk,"  and 
you  take  it  up  and  know  not  how  nor  why.  She  wills  it, 
and  the  thing  is  done. 

The  old  men  and  this  old  sorceress,  fortune-teller,  spirit 
medium, witch, — she  who  has  the  gift  of  seeing  sights  not 
practically  seeable,  and  of  passing  in  and  out  over  the 
threshold  of  eternity,  were  gathered  in  an  anxious  but 
dead  silent  conclave,  about  a  smouldering  fire  of  burned- 
out  brush-wood,  waiting  for  something. 

"I  see,"  said  the  old  squaw,  in  her  native,  stomach- 
spoken  unpronounceability,  words  which  in  free  interpre- 
tation might  be  rendered — ' '  I  see  a  big  cloud  of  smoke — 
See  many  Indians — Indians  from  where  the  summer 
comes — Indians  from  the  great  snow  country — Indians 
from  where  the  sun  sleeps.  See  Indians  cover  the  whole 
hill — cover  the  plain  over  by  the  plantation.  Indians 
come  like  bees  when  the  winds  blow  down  the  hive-tree. 
I  see  old  chiefs  long  time  dead — up  on  the  hill  scarp — up 
on  the  black  ledges.  I  feel  the  great  hill  shake — see  a 
hundred  warriors  go  out  like  a  torchlight,  go  out  in  the 
cloud  of  smoke — go  out  in  the  hill  shake."  And  as  she 
finished  the  last  sentence  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and 
wildly  gesticulating,  pointed  here  and  there,  and  in  a  half 
whisper  ejaculated:  "See!  see  old  warrior!  Big  heap 
warrior  !  No  see  ?  Umph  !  Got  no  eye. ' '  And  with 


62  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

the  last  word  she  tossed  her  head  this  way  and  that,  with- 
out volition,  and  with  spasmodic  twitches  of  the  muscles 
of  face  and  shoulders  she  fell,  going  off  into  a  swoon. 
May  be  it  was  a  trance.  Those  who  tamper  with  the 
occult  touching  the  hereafter,  and  in  pretense  or  other- 
wise hold  intercourse  with  unseen  entities,  talk  of  trances, 
of  temporary  spirit  disembodiment,  and  of  spirit  rehabili- 
ment  in  shapely,  ethereal  luminosity. 

She  was  gone;  was  rigid,  cold,  and  to  all  appearance 
dead.  But  she  had  been  so  before,  and  the  squaws  looked 
at  her  and  sighed,  and  passed  on,  and  the  men  gave  that 
grunt,  that  combination  of  gutteral  and  nasal  sound, 
which,  given  by  an  Indian,  is  not  possible  of  interpreta- 
tion, inasmuch  as  it  is  the  ready  accompaniment  of  every 
sentiment  and  passion  of  which  he  is  capable. 

Those  seated  on  the  ground  by  the  wigwams  now  hear 
the  dip  of  paddles,  hear  the  crackling  of  twigs  under  the 
tread  of  many  moccasins.  Friendly  feet  that  wear  those 
moccasins,  otherwise  no  sound  would  have  come  of  them 
even  though  the  woods  were  full. 

Many  strange  faces  in  stranger  paint  and  wampum  now 
file  past  the  smouldering  fire,  turn  to  glance  at  the  dead 
squaw,  and  passing  on  form  a  circle.  But  never  an  eye 
among  the  sitters  is  turned  to  inspect  them.  Every  mus- 
cle, every  nerve,  every  passion  is  subject  to  the  will  that 
acknowledges  a  discipline  which  bars  the  semblance  of 
curiosity.  Stolid  as  statues  they  sit  and  seem  to  muse. 

Foremost  among  those  just  landed  is  Wandee,  and  next 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  63 

him  a  figure  that  has  not  its  counterpart  or  likeness  in 
all  the  Nipnet  country. 

It  is  a  rare  thing  to  see  a  Hercules  among  the  Indians. 
They  may  be  lithe  and  vigorous,  swift  they  are,  and  for  a 
moment  strong  ;  but  that  grand  development  of  muscle, 
the  product  of  varied  active  labors,  or  of  sports  and  exer- 
cises governed  by  scientific  rules,  which,  under  guidance, 
qualify  a  man  for  extreme  physical  endurance  and  endow 
him  with  abnormal  muscular  power  in  every  part  of  his 
system,  is  in  a  degree  wanting  in  the  mere  hunter,  who, 
with  rare  exceptions,  rises  to  the  exercise  of  mentality 
only  with  a  view  to  outwit  or  outspeed  the  lower  animals, 
and  when  the  purpose  is  accomplished,  or  abandoned  as 
fruitless,  falls  back  into  blissful,  unthinking  repose.  He 
never  exercises  with  a  purpose  to  develop. 

He  does  nothing  except  in  answer  to  the  calls  of 
emergency.  He  will  not  even  force  the  earth  to  yield  her 
increase.  He  will  sooner  starve,  and  trust  to  luck.  And 
why  not  ?  He  has  his  domestic  beasts — his  slaves — his 
squaws,  and  what  are  they  here  for  except  to  cater  to  his 
needs  and  his  passions,  and  to  breed  warriors? 

But  here  was  indeed  a  thorough  and  unmistakable 
athlete.  Not  one  of  the  stereotyped,  American  aboriginal 
men  ;  squatty,  heavy-shouldered  and  abnormally  mus- 
cular, uncouth,  ugly  in  appearance,  with  closely  shaven 
head,  and  scalp  lock  trimmed  into  the  semblance  of  a 
militia  man's  pompon.  The  long,  straight,  black  hair, 
parted  in  the  middle  of  the  forehead,  was  bound  by  a  cor- 
onet of  red-stained  buckskin,  ornate  with  pearls  of  the 


64  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

fresh  water  clam,  crystals,  the  quills  of  the  porcupine  and 
minute  sea-shells,  and  that  was  clasped  in  front  by  a 
magnificent  gold  buckle,  the  present,  or  lootage  perhaps, 
of  some  well-to-do  white  man. 

Depending  from  the  scarlet  band  were  beads  in  various 
colored  fringes,  and  beads  in  graceful  and  elaborate  trac- 
ings crossed  it,  while  surmounting  all  one  bronze  black 
eagle  plume  in  the  buckle  fixed  awry,  proclaimed  him 
chief,  or  leader  of  some  clan  of  the  confederation — a 
mugwump  in  the  tribal  nation.  A  red,  sleeveless,  flannel 
shirt,  wrought  in  graceful  designs  and  hieroglyphic 
figures  of  some  occult  meaning  is  bound  at  the  waist  by 
a  wampum  belt.  Close,  fringed,  leathern  leggings,  and 
bead-wrought,  brown  tanned  buckskin  moccasins  com- 
plete the  stranger  warrior's  dress,  while  a  beautifully 
polished  steel  hatchet  with  long,  conic  head,  suspended 
by  a  loop  in  the  body  belt  is  his  only  weapon.  He  was 
approximately  thirty-five  years  of  age,  less  in  height 
than  Wandee,  his  fairly  wide  shoulders,  massive  chest 
and  neck, — neck  joined  with  graceful  sweep  to  the  figure 
below,  the  perfectly  erect  carriage,  so  unusual  to  the  race, 
the  full,  but  not  huge  development  of  muscles  in  the 
limbs,  proud  free  step  and  haughty  air,  his  great  black 
eyes  showing  much  of  the  white  against  the  yellow  red- 
ness of  his  skin,  and  beaming  more  with  dignity  than 
fire,  gave  him  a  commanding  appearance  exceeding  even 
that  of  his  lordly  host. 

And  this  stranger,  the  great  red-man  who  locked  his 
name  in  perpetuity  to  the  history  of  the  New  World,  who 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  65 

died  a  hero  martyr  and  a  patriot  outlaw — the  terrible  fate 
of  whose  descendants  is  a  perpetual  blot  upon  the  other- 
wise fair  escutcheon  of  our  brave,  but  too  stern  fathers — 
is  none  other  than  the  renowned  Philip  of  Mount  Hope, 
king  of  the  Wampanoags. 

A  pow-wow  had  been  held  the  night  before  at  Hassi- 
nomissitt  (Grafton)  at  the  south  end  of  L,ake  Quinsig- 
amond,  where  it  breaks  away  in  the  Nipnap  River,  and 
runs  in  rapid  cascade-broken  flow  toward  Narragansett 
Bay,  and  by  invitation  of  the  Quinsigamond  chief,  who 
had  been  in  attendance,  King  Philip  was,  for  this  night, 
the  guest  of  Wandee.  The  subject  of  the  pow-wow  had 
been  vengeance  upon  the  white  aggressors.  Not  that  the 
Hill  chief  had  been  lured  into  the  brooding  conspiracy; 
not  that  he  was  ready  or  willing  to  break  faith  with  the 
white  man  who,  but  for  the  episode  of  Shonto's  demise, 
had  ever  been  his  friends;  but  that  the  great  warrior,  the 
great  politician, — renowned  for  wisdom,  renowned  for 
courage,  renowned  for  his  surpassing  eloquence,  had 
claims  at  least,  upon  his  hospitality. 

Stirring  appeals  had  been  made  at  Hassinomissitt. 
Speeches  such  as  Indians  make  under  a  fervor  of  excite- 
ment, when  gesticulation  is  the  supreme  factor,  and  oral 
communication  is  condensed  into  connecting  links  of  here 
a  metaphor  and  there  a  pungent,  picturesque  simile. 
They  had  been  made  by  the  various  chiefs  assembled,  but 
not  by  Philip.  Philip's  manner  was  calm  and  collected; 
his  reasoning  clear  and  logical;  his  appeals  forceful  and 
persuasive  without  the  shadow  of  personal  excitement, 
5 


66  DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM. 

but  withal  so  subtle,  so  conclusive,  so  convincing  and  so 
inspiriting,  that  while  the  imperturbable  master  of  reason 
and  discourse  was  in  perfect  balance  and  self-poise,  his 
hearers,  by  exercise  of  some  magic, — unappreciable,  unde- 
fined, went  wild  with  an  enthusiasm  utterly  unaccountable 
in  consideration  of  their  ordinarily  stoical  or  stolid  tem- 
peraments. 

The  chiefs  of  Tehassit,  Asnebumskit,  Washakim, 
Pegan,  Quaboag,  and  Wachusett  were  there  and  said  their 
say,  with  more  or  less  ardor,  chiefly  according  as  they 
had  more  or  less  grievance  to  charge  upon  the  whites. 
Philip's  speech  was  purely  oral,  beginning  with  a  precise, 
but  concise  statement  of  the  object  of  the  gathering,  which 
was  to  consult  as  to  the  best  means  to  pursue  in  gaining 
redress  for  manifold  wrongs  perpetrated  by  their  white 
neighbors. 

The  burden  of  the  conference,  if  that  may  be  called  a 
conference  where  one  master  spirit  dominates  all  minds  as 
the  whirlwind  sometimes  leads  a  storm,  was  war;  although 
as  yet  Philip  had  not  said  it,  had  not  named  war.  So 
far  it  seemed  only  hovering  in  space,  like  some  weird 
fatality,  an  unspoken  premonition.  His  words  were  soft 
and  kindly,  but  the  sweet-mouthed  blandishments  of  the 
astute  Warnpanoag  were  but  the  voluptuous,  sinuous 
ceilings  of  the  serpent,  or  the  mild  saliva  that  facilitates 
disaster.  The  glittering  eye  told  more  truly  than  the  tongue 
how  deadly  was  the  scheme  in  contemplation.  It  told  of 
war;  war  so  desperate,  so  relentless,  that  nothing  less 
could  suffice  than  utter  extermination, — the  wiping  out  of 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  67 

every  vestige  and  drop  of  white  blood,  from  the  white 
bear  country  on  the  north  to  where  the  stone-house  dwell- 
ers in  the  south  still  gloried  in  recited  traditions  of  Monte- 
zumian  magnificence  under  the  vertical  rays  of  a  winter 
sun. 

And  Wandee  had  heard  the  silvery  tongue  of  Philip 
rolling  as  fluently,  as  grandly,  in  the  Nipnet  dialect  as  if 
its  syllables  had  been  his  infant  lullaby.  It  had  been 
poured  into  his  listening  ears  as  sweetly  as  the  musical 
symphony  of  that  paragon  of  wildwood  vocalism,  the 
brown  thrush. 

Nothing  could  exceed  in  roughness  the  Nipnet  tongue, 
as  ordinarily  spoken.  But  in  the  treatment  of  language, 
nicety  of  selection,  point,  perspicuity,  and  conciseness  of 
expression,  aided  by  a  rhythmical  habit  in  arrangement, 
can  make  poetry  out  of  uncouth,  local  idioms,  and  music 
out  of  jargon. 

Wandee,  while  he  had  declined  to  accept  Christianity  of 
the  white  man,  and  had  utterly  refused  to  exchange  his 
worship  of  the  Great  Spirit,  the  all-pervading,  all  per- 
meating, active,  intelligent  essence  of  life,  for  that  of  a 
personality  of  whom  he  was  told  he  was  the  image;  that 
to  him,  incomprehensible  combination  of  three  distinct 
and  yet  inseparable  personalities,  had  yet  pledged  himself 
to  bury  forever  the  hatchet.  He  could  not  change  his 
form  of  worship,  nor  repudiate  its  object.  Probably  his 
incapacity  to  make  one  and  three  identical  by  combination 
or  interchangeability,  had  confused  him,  and  he  preferred 
his  simple  faith  which,  while  it  offered  no  complex  problem 


68  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

for  solution,  admitted  him  into  the  immediate  presence  of 
Deity,  and  gave  him  assurance  of  a  life  to  come  as  the 
natural  concomitant  of  an  indestructible  spirit  existence 
that  is, — an  indestructibility  vouched  for  by  repeated 
personal  manifestations  and  common  asseveration  of  such 
as  pass  back  and  forth  from  the  spirit  land ;  and  in  the 
necessity  for  appeal  he  preferred  the  direct  method  to 
submitting  to  the  incumbrance  of  an  intercessor. 

He  gave  his  mind  no  disturbance  on  account  of  the 
white  man's  religion,  but  he  could  stand  by  his  pledges. 

It  was  no  purpose  of  the  great  chief  on  the  occasion  of 
this  visit  to  Quinsigamond  to  make  converts  to  his  way 
of  thinking,  or  by  word  or  act  to  show  himself  other 
than  the  friendly  guest  of  Wandee;  for  however  he  might 
wish  to  exert  his  influence  for  the  cause  so  near  his  heart, 
even  an  Indian's  idea  of  etiquette  forbade  so  untimely  an 
introduction  of  the  subject. 

He  was  at  Hassinomissitt  through  preconcertion,  and 
for  a  purpose,  but  he  was  at  Wigwan  to  enjoy  the  hospi- 
tality of  a  generous  and  promising  young  host. 

Already  he  had  shaken  peace  to  its  foundation  stones 
by  his  harangue  in  the  valley  below,  and  the  fires  of 
revenge  and  insubordination  to  a  stranger's  dictation  he 
had  there  kindled,  were  being  carried  to  every  lodge,  from 
the  mouth  of  the  Assabett  River  to  the  junction  of  the 
Connecticut  and  Chicopee. 

He  reserved  his  great  powers  of  persuasion  and  insti- 
gation, and  the  terrible  force  by  which  he  was  able  to 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  69 

raise  to  a  tempest  of  tumult  the  minds  of  men,  for 
occasions  worthy  of  his  genius. 

Probably  no  Indian  chief  of  that  or  any  other  age  so 
thoroughly  combined  the  wisdom  of  the  sage,  the  courage 
and  valor  of  the  hero,  the  persuasive  eloquence  of  word 
and  action  that  roll  together  with  rhythmic  flow  toward 
the  accomplishment  of  a  purpose  fixed  by  a  will  unalter- 
able and  unconquerable,  and  the  subtle  craft  of  the 
statesman  and  diplomat.  Master  by  birth  and  election  of 
the  little  peninsula  to  the  south  of  Wat  Cheer,  with  a  few 
hundred  Narragansetts  as  tribal  attaches,  he  had  in  a 
twelvemonth,  by  force  of  his  genius,  aided  by  his  wonder- 
ful linguistic  attainments — for  he  was  master  of  all  the 
northern  dialects — sundered  the  bonds  of  oath,  interest, 
friendship  and  religion  between  seventy  per  cent,  of  all 
the  red  men  through  a  territory  of  five  hundred  miles 
square,  from  the  St.  Lawrence  to  the  Dutch  settlements 
on  the  Hudson,  and  from  the  Penobscot  to  the  Alleghanies 
and  Adirondacks.  The  rude  tribes  of  the  Canadas,  and 
that  wild,  warlike,  aboriginal  terror — the  bloody  Mohawks, 
had  sworn  out  of  the  curling  smoke  of  the  calumet,  an 
everlasting  fealty  to  the  polished  demi-god  of  Mount 
Hope. 

Take  one  more  look  at  the  lordly  sachem,  as  his 
splendid  figure  gracefully  bows  good  night  to  the  scarcely 
less  grand  presence  of  the  young  chief  of  the  Quinsiga- 
monds  and  retires  within  the  walls  of  the  council  wig- 
wam for  a  night's  repose. 

We  shall  see  him  once  again  before  the  sun  of  his 


7O  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

day  of  vengeance  and  blood  shall  set  in  an  evening  of 
misfortune  and  despair. 

By  earliest  daylight  the  roaring  flames  of  a  huge  camp- 
fire,  where  spitted  upon  leaning  stakes  of  green  walnut 
the  sputtering  fat  of  wild  goose,  and  the  savory  odor  of 
crackling,  hissing,  brown  haunches  of  venison  give 
promise  of  generous  feast.  But  for  the  method  of  feast- 
ing, it  amounts  to  but  this,  with  king  or  with  witch 
— for  that  wiry  old  woman  is  here  (the  one  we  left  dead, 
or  who  seemed  so  in  the  evening,  is  here,  and  is  mutter- 
ing or  gazing,  with  face  upturned,  peering  off  into  space). 
Slice  after  slice  is  cut  with  a  scalp- knife  from  the  breast 
of  the  fowl ;  and  with  angling  incision  at  top,  long  strips 
are  jerked  from  the  venison  and  devoured  by  the  feasters, 
standing.  King,  chief  and  warrior  as  one  are  fed  at  this 
open  air,  want  of  a  table. 

The  birches  are  launched,  and  are  flying  over  the 
placid  waters  of  the  beautiful  lake  to  disappear  among 
the  many  islands,  but  to  reappear  as  they  skim  the  swift- 
flowing  waters  of  the  sparkling  Nipnap,1  and  float  away 
in  the  blue  distance  to  the  Narragansett  and  Mount  Hope. 

1  Nipnap,  the  Blackstone  River. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IN  THE  TOILS. 

HAVING  before  this  given  a  succinct  view  of  the  person 
and  character  of  Eugene  Archer,  we  will  now  proceed 
to  describe  him  more  minutely,  in  order  that  a  closer 
acquaintaince  with  him  may  leave  us  less  susceptible  to 
the  sensation  of  surprise  at  any  general  or  especial 
breach  of  good  faith  or  manly  decorum. 

He  was  a  young  man  of  excellent  family,  one  with 
whom  John  Wing  had  become  partially  acquainted  while 
going  the  rounds  with  his  old  school  companions  in  the 
seaport  town  of  Boston.  One  whose  father,  an  English 
trader  of  no  inconsiderable  fortune,  acquired  partly  in 
London,  considerable  in  the  slave  trade  between  the 
coast  of  Africa  and  the  West  Indies,  and  somewhat  in  his 
later  venture  as  ship  owner  and  colonial  merchant. 

The  elder  Archer  stood  high  in  the  rank  of  respect- 
ability. 

He,  Eugene,  had  already  manifested  an  innate  adapt- 
ability for  becoming  an  integral  part  of  the  great  balance 
wheel  of  American  institutions  and  of  that  popular  liberty 
which  was  already  beginning  its  century  of  incubation. 
He  had  shown  unmistakable  aptitude  for  squandering 
the  accumulations  of  his  latest  progenitors,  to  the  end 
that  it  might  be  reaccumulated  by  more  frugal  hands, 


72  DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM. 

thereby  defeating  the  ends  of  the  original  purpose, — the 
acquisition  and  continuance  of  the  power  of  wealth  in 
perpetuity. 

Eugene's  self  was  an  intimate  comminglement  of  good 
breeding  and  bad  morals;  of  forward  politeness  and  lurk- 
ing vulgarity;  of  presumptive  innocence,  assumption  of 
integrity,  and  covert  rascality. 

I  have  said  that  his  height  was  five  feet  ten.  He  was 
slightly  but  admirably  proportioned,  supple  rather  than 
strong,  and  he  had  more  hardy  endurance  than  ready 
physical  force.  He  was  erect  in  figure,  manly  of  bearing, 
quick  of  mental  apprehension,  bold  to  extremity  where 
he  had  a  purpose  to  effect,  and  just  the  model  out  of 
which  to  evolve  the  perfect  man  were  it  not  for  the  moral 
poisons  which  tainted  the  blood  from  unremembered  ances- 
try; that  potency  for  evil  which  reaches  back  from  the 
hereafter — that  moral  Kraken  recrossing  the  Styx  and 
involving  a  soul  in  its  merciless  tentacles.  Or  it  might  be, 
indeed,  that  he  had  imbibed  corruption  from  personal  in- 
noculation.  I  don't  know. 

The  features  of  Eugene's  face  were  nearly  perfect. 
That  is  to  say  they  were  balanced.  The  type  is  of  but 
trifling  consequence,  so  easy  it  is  to  take  some  misplaced, 
and  therefore  ugly  feature,  and  by  matching  up  produce 
a  paragon  of  beauty.  The  cherished  result  is  the  effect 
of  combination.  There  is  no  type  will  stand  for  a 
moment  as  ideal.  But  Archer's  nose  was  straight,  or 
nearly  so,  and  from  its  connection  with  the  brow  project- 
ing somewhat  from  the  nearly  vertical  line  of  his  not 


DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM.  73 

high  forehead.  His  chin  was,  if  anything,  too  heavy 
and  inclined  to  turn  up,  nostrils  large,  eyes  dark  gray  and 
rather  full,  mouth  medium  in  size,  slightly  elevated  at 
the  corners,  and  an  inclination  to  pout  with  the  underlip. 
The  graceful  column  of  a  wide-based  neck  extended  to 
the  chest  and  shoulder  without  the  indication  of  an  angle. 
His  hair  was  dark  and  somewhat  wavy,  but  was  clipped 
too  short  to  be  considered  just  the  thing  by  the  long- 
haired yeomen  of  a  country  district,  and  a  silken,  dark 
mustache,  the  badge  of  budding  aristocracy,  was  the 
scorn  of  all  mature  respectablity.  Such  things  were 
permissible  only  in  case  of  a  Portuguese  or  Spaniard. 

As  has  been  said,  John  Wing  made  the  acquaintance  of 
this  man  at  the  clubs  in  Boston,  and  at  Eugene's  persistent 
importunities  had  allowed  him,  by  formal  invitation,  to 
accompany  him  to  the  plantation  as  his  guest.  Not  that 
the  captain  would  have  been,  personally,  in  any  degree 
averse  to  his  company,  but  the  young  man's  foppish 
appearance,  his  elegant  habits,  and,  what  was  worse  than 
all,  his  custom  of  frequent  change  of  apparel,  was  sure  to 
arouse  contempt  in  the  planters. 

Could  he  have  followed  the  example  of  young  Wing, 
who  in  his  periodical  visits  to  Boston  most  fully  affected 
all  that  capricious  fashion  demanded,  but  on  his  return 
put  off,  as  the  snake  discards  his  skin,  the  gewgaws  of 
elite  society  and  settled  down  to  corduroy  or  homespun, 
or  even  to  a  suit  of  modest  velvet  with  a  single  change, 
these  old  fellows  would  have  taken  him  to  their  bosoms, 
after  having  taken  the  measure  of  his  general  character 


74  DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM. 

and  capacity,  and  provided  both  were  of  the  current 
quality. 

The  captain  knew  how  it  would  be  with  the  impudently 
independent  Bostonian.  But  there  was  no  help  for  it  now. 
He  had  accepted  courtesies,  and  as  a  gentleman  must 
hold  himself  in  readiness  to  return  them. 

However,  the  feeling  partly  subsided  as  the  two  became 
better  acquainted  on  their  horseback  journey  to  the  inte- 
rior, for  the  visitor's  good  sense  and  wit,  his  superior  skill 
in  horsemanship  (few  people  in  the  older  communities 
realize  how  far  a  glorious,  long-continued  canter,  by  ex- 
pert horsemen  on  high-mettled  animals,  tends  to  bring 
two  souls  into  unison),  and  above  all  the  reckless  daring 
exhibited  by  him  as,  in  passing  through  what  is  now 
Watertown,  a  surly  bull  drove  at  them  on  the  road,  and 
this  Eugene,  never  so  much  at  home  as  in  the  presence 
of  danger,  teased  and  goaded  the  brute,  cutting  him  across 
the  eyes  with  his  riding- whip,  wheeling  his  nimble  mare 
to  elude  a  charge,  only  to  renew  the  torture,  until  the 
worried  and  despairing  beast  bellowed  a  surrender  and 
beat  a  hasty  retreat;  the  adventure,  I  say,  had  fairly  won 
over  the  captain  to  cordial  liking;  and  within  a  week 
he  had  made  for  the  new  comer  many  friends  among  the 
tough  old  planters  who  affected  to  believe  all  fashionable 
traps  were  arts  of  Satan's  own  devising. 

Among  the  places  where  the  captain  introduced  him 
was  the  house  of  Digory  Sergent,  and  from  the  moment 
the  new  man  first  looked  upon  the  rustic  beaut)' — the 
second  daughter  (rustic  he  took  her  to  be  until  a  slight 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  75 

acquaintance  taught  him  that  in  the  matter  of  education 
at  least,  in  both  letters  and  deportment  she  was  fully  his 
equal),  his  subtle,  unscrupulous  mind  began  to  scheme 
for  her  undoing. 

Could  he  but  get  her  to  Boston,  there  were  ways  enough 
by  which  her  identity  could  be  concealed  while  he  chose 
to  revel  in  the  charms  of  a  new  mistress,  and  should  he 
tire  of  her  and  desire  to  cast  her  off  for  mere  change's 
sake,  or  to  avail  himself  of  fresher  charms,  her  shame 
would  be  its  own,  and  his  best  safeguard. 

More  than  once,  when  the  captain  was  to  be  occupied 
at  home,  Eugene  found  excuse  in  his  love  of  horseman- 
ship, to  make  excursions  into  the  country  by  the  many 
bridle-paths  and  Indian  trails,  and  invariably  brought  up 
at  Sagatabscot  Hill.  If  his  call  chanced  to  be  alluded  to 
at  the  captain's  next  visit,  it  excited  no  surprise.  He 
was  merely  taking  a  whirl  among  the  trails,  and  nothing 
could  be  more  natural  than  to  call,  if  he  chanced  to  be 
near.  Besides,  so  bold,  so  frank,  so  valiant  a  spirit, — could 
he  plot  harm?  Preposterous!  Being  so  introduced,  and 
seeming  so  much  in  favor  with  Captain  Wing,  he  was 
always  a  welcome  guest  and  could  at  all  times  prolong 
his  stay  and  even  stroll  about  the  clearing  in  Susan's 
company  without  occasioning  especial  notice. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  occasions,  when  they  had  passed 
beyond  the  usual  limit  of  a  walk,  that  the  rake  began  a 
bolder  assault  upon  her  affections  than  he  had  hitherto 
deemed  prudent.  In  her  artless  innocence  her  ready 
tongue  had  rattled  away  as  humor  or  as  fancy  prompted. 


76  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

Her  mirthful,  ever-laughing  eyes  had  often  met  Eugene's 
with  what  might  be  love,  might  be  her  sweet  good-nature 
only.  A  more  complete  adept  at  love  lore  than  was  Archer, 
even,  could  hardly  have  divined  its  real  import.  So  be- 
witching was  she  in  her  ways,  while  all  unconscious  that 
it  might  work  harm,  that  Eugene  found  at  last  that  he 
himself  had  been  entrapped  in  the  very  snare  he  had  set 
for  her;  for  while  he  had  at  first  regarded  her  as  a  mere 
toy  that  he  might  play  with  and  at  will  discard,  he  found 
himself  now  consuming  with  a  real  love.  A  cruel,  fierce, 
intoxicating  fondness  that  was  fast  weaving  bonds  about 
the  slayer  as  unyielding  as  the  web  with  which  he  had 
purposed  to  enthrall  his  victim. 

She  had  unconsciously  twined  about  him  a  mesh  he 
could  not  break  and  in  the  end  he  must  succumb  or  sacri- 
fice. If  sacrifice, — then,  vulture-like,  he  might  rise  cold 
and  cruel  from  the  moral  death  his  arts  had  compassed 
and  his  passions  fed  upon. 

What  in  him  had  been  at  first  but  morbid  lust,  merged 
into  that  baser  comminglement  of  love  and  lust  which 
remorselessly  destroys  the  shrine  it  confesses  but  will 
not  worship  at,  and  knows  neither  conscience  nor  con- 
stancy. 

But,  failing  in  every  effort,  art,  and  wile  to  awaken  in 
her  affection  or  sentiment  other  than  a  forced  regard  for 
the  friend  and  guest  of  her  affianced  ;  failing  in  repeated 
attempts  to  divert  her  attachment  by  arousing  in  her  a  pas- 
sion of  jealousy,  or  by  posing  as  an  admiring,  sympathetic 
friend  of  one  who  was  at  best  but  sharing  a  divided  love;  he 


DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM.  77 

merely  made  her  uneasy,  unhappy.  Jealous  she  really 
became;  for  Eugene's  statements  and  insinuations  of  his 
friend's  irregularities  in  Boston,  a  scheme  he  had  woven  of 
half  fact  and  half  fiction, — just  so  much  fact  as  could  be 
made  demonstrable  by  tagging  together  of  casual  remarks, 
and  partly  of  deftly  interpolated  fiction,  hardly  admitted 
the  supposition  of  constancy. 

Yet  every  inuendo  and  presumption  of  evil  on  the  part 
of  the  captain,  as  thrown  out  by  Eugene,  was  so  covertly 
guarded  by  a  plausible  alternative  in  the  mouth  of  the 
traducer,  that  she  still  clung  to  the  hope  that  after  all 
everything  might  bear  investigation  and  be  capable  of 
explanation.  But  such  hope,  at  the  moment  of  its  in- 
ception, was  doomed  to  be  shattered  into  a  thousand 
inconsistencies  by  some  countermining  device  of  the 
arch  maligner. 

Still,  so  persistently  did  she  beat  about  her  and  clutch 
at  shadows  of  excuses  and  palliations,  that  Eugene  at 
last  wearied  of  inventing  disparagements,  and  turning 
from  the  system  in  disgust  set  his  heart  upon  more 
atrociously  effective  measures  for  forever  separating  the 
pair,  each  from  its  idol. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

TRIED    FOR   HIS 


IT  was  the  tenth  of  December,  and  December  sat 
down  heavily  upon  the  plantation.  The  snow  was  already 
eighteen  inches  deep  upon  a  level,  and  the  checkered  sky 
of  the  previous  night,  together  with  the  rapidly  moving 
grey  scuds,  like  pickets  thrown  out  from  the  long,  black 
bank  of  clouds  in  the  southwest  horizon,  seemed  to  por- 
tend an  additional  encumbrance  of  this  apparently  useless 
material. 

The  old  English  clock  that  stood  in  the  corner  of  the 
tavern  hall  and  at  intervals  of  long  seconds  wagged  its 
lazy  pendulum  which  hung  suspended  by  a  five-foot  rod, 
now  told  the  hour  of  nine.  And  to-day  was  trial  day  for 
the  proud  young  chief  of  the  Quinsigamonds,  and  the 
hour  was  fixed  at  ten  A.  M. 

Already  nearly  every  man  in  the  plantation  had  made 
his  appearance,  and  several  had  come  in  on  snowshoes 
from  Lancaster,  Brookfield  and  Marlborough.  Bestdesthe 
men,  many  women  were  in  attendance.  Some  came  per- 
haps out  of  mere  curiosity  to  witness  the  holding  of  the 
first  court  ever  convened  between  Boston  and  New  Amster- 
dam. 

Some  came  to  look  again  for  the  hundredth  and  last  time 


DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM.  79 

upon  the  handsome  Nipnet  chief  whom  even  Captain 
John  Wing,  the  idol  of  female  Quinsigamond,1  had  not 
hesitated  to  speak  of  admiringly  and  to  make  companion 
of  his  wildwood  sports  by  summer  and  winter. 

Among  the  people  assembled  were  the  Henchmans, 
Paynes,  Noyses,  Rices,  Prentices  and  at  least  fifty  others, 
and  last  to  come,  but  not  least  in  the  estimation  of  all, 
particularly  of  the  grown  sons  of  the  planters,  were  Martha 
Sergent  and  that  large-eyed,  sweet-mouthed  glory  of 
femininity,  Susan  of  Sagatabscot,  who  seemed,  as  was 
remarked  by  several  solicitous  matrons,  very  much  paler 
than  usual,  while  about  her  eyes  was  a  tinge  of  illy  con- 
cealed distress  which  belied  her  laughing  mouth  and 
cheery  volubility  of  tongue. 

She  had  been  troubled  of  late,  but  she  had  promised 
secrecy  to  Kugene  Archer,  and  had  now  rallied  upon  the 
practice  of  that  art  which  is  instinct  in  the  sex  when 
jealousy  prompts  a  woman  to  detect  ,a  fault.  She  could 
smile  with  lips  and  eyes  and  could  prattle  with  her  tongue 
even  while  her  heart  was  breaking. 

It  was  now  nearly  ten  o'clock  and  the  prisoner  was  not 
at  hand,  but  Captain  Wing  had  pledged  himself  for  his 
appearance,  and  Captain  John  was  absent.  They  will 
surely  come.  Yes!  they  come.  Over  the  hilltop  to  east- 
ward and  close  at  hand,  over  the  top  of  the  crustless  snow 
directly  in  the  line  of  Wigwam,  light  as  the  tread  of  that 
flock  of  snowbirds,  sweeping  and  soaring  and  stooping 

1  Quinsigamond  tribe,  and  Quinsigamond  plantation  must  not 
be  confounded. 


80  DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM. 

in  front  of  them,  light  as  that  breath  of  wind  that  whirls 
the  feathery  snow  flakes  in  their  faces;  over  the  hill  top, 
striding  upon  green  hide  basket-ribbed  Indian  rackets, 
come  the  captain  and  Wandee  wrapped  in  their  mantles 
of  bear-skin. 

Seventy  men  are  now  in  the  Castle  Tavern  eagerly 
waiting  to  see  the  lassoo  of  law  cast  over  the  neck  of  the 
first  victim. 

The  deacon,  Trial  Justice  by  virtue  of  appointment 
at  Boston,  stood  in  the  bar  room,  running  over  the  jury 
panel,  and  mentally  reviewing,  so  far  as  memory  would 
serve  him,  legal  forms  and  processes  which  he  had  indus- 
triously sought  out  and  endeavored  to  memorize  within 
the  last  few  days.  Cogitating  he  was,  how  far  a  Trial 
Justice  himself  might  be  amenable  to  law  for  irregularity 
in  the  form  of  dispensation,  even  where  the  culprit  was 
only  an  Indian. 

Steaming  hot  mugs  were  now  resting  upon  the  bar, 
having  been  replenished  by  Black  Jake  in  the  master's 
absence,  and  were  waiting,  as  were  a  score  of  hot  rum 
toddies,  for  the  Justice,  the  most  important  man  in  the 
plantation,  for  this  day  at  least,  to  institute  a  proceeding 
not  directly  in  line  with  the  business  of  the  day. 

The  planters  were  coming  in  from  the  piazzas,  blowing 
their  fingers  and  rubbing  their  ears,  and  were  evidently 
growing  impatient,  which,  the  Justice  perceiving,  he  lifted 
his  mug  and  wished  them  a  happy  return  of  the  day,  and 
possession  of  the  intervales  in  the  interim,  after  which 
he  called  out — "Attention!"  and  began  to  call  the  roll 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  8  I 

of  his  jury,  but  had  hardly  uttered  the  first  name  before 
observing  a  fault  of  omission. 

' '  Step  forward  as  you  answer  to  your  names  and  fall 
into  platoons  at  salute!  "  was  given  as  an  order,  and  the 
men  obeyed. 

Form,  however,  went  for  but  little,  as  the  prisoner  was 
only  an  Indian ,  and  after  excusing  some  of  the  list,  among 
them  the  two  Rices,  who  confessed  to  prejudice  in  the 
prisoner's  favor,  and  Sergent  for  predetermining  in  his 
mind  as  to  guilt  or  innocence,  others  were  excused  for 
having  expressed  opinions,  and  all  such  claimed  that  ex- 
emption was  legal,  although  assured  by  the  Justice  that  it 
mattered  but  little,  as  the  prisoner  was  "only  an  Injun." 
But  substitutes  were  found;  not,  however,  without  includ- 
ing Black  Jake,  who,  although  a  slave,  and  not  eligible 
in  ordinary  cases,  was  fully  competent  in  this. 

The  Court  now  adjourned  to  the  Castle,  where  a  roaring 
fire  had  been  built  in  anticipation  of  the  event. 

A  fire  had  never  been  kindled  in  that  house  for  the 
comfort  of  church  service  since  the  Castle  was  built. 
Faith  and  zeal  might  relax  under  the  soothing,  satis- 
fying influence  of  diffused  caloric. 

One  zealot  in  the  congregation  had  said  "  it  is  a  feeble 
religious  flame  that  cannot  keep  one's  toes  from  freezing 
in  the  House  of  God." 

To  suffer,  was  commendable  sacrifice;  to  enjoy,  could 
only  savor  of  sacrilege. 

All  was  now  arranged.  The  Justice  occupied  the 
bench  that  did  service  as  a  pulpit  on  the  Sabbath  days, 
6 


82  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

and  the  trial  commenced  and  proceeded  with  solemnity, 
and  as  much  regularity,  as  much  adhesion  to  barristic 
forms  as  might  be  reasonably  expected  of  men  wholly 
unused  to  the  legal  dispensation  of  justice.  To  be  sure, 
most  of  them  had  attended  upon  fence-post  floggings,1 
with  the  black-snake  horsewhip,  when  justice  was  admin- 
istered by  the  edict  of  an  improvised  jury,  to  some  thieving 
red-skin,  or  a  lazy  lout  of  a  white  man  who  had  made 
himself  obnoxious  to  the  people  of  Marlborough  or  Sud- 
bury — from  whence  most  of  them  came — by  lying  drunk 
too  many  days  of  the  week,  thereby  jeopardizing  the 
interests  of  the  community  that  might,  if  the  thing  was 
continued,  be  called  upon  to  aid  in  the  family's  support. 

There  were  no  Washakims  in  attendance  as  witnesses, 
at  this  trial,  although  the  tribe  was  in  reality  the  plain- 
tiff in  the  case,  and  a  dozen  of  them  had  been  till  now, 
loud-mouthed  with  damning  evidence,  and  had  been  duly 
cited  to  appear.  One  of  them  had  found  the  body, 
another  the  arrows  with  heads  such  as  no  Indian  but 
Wandee  used,  and  several  others  had  sundry  tokens  upon 
which  to  base  a  theory  adverse  to  the  prisoner. 

As  no  Washakims  were  present,  no  evidence, — not  even 
circumstantial,  could  be  adduced,  at  least  none  ordinarily 
competent.  But,  as  hearsay  and  current  rumor  were  fully 
admitted,  not  indeed  as  good  and  sufficient,  but  for  all 
the  jury  might  consider  them  worth,  and  as  the  general 

1  Fence-post  trials,  euding  in  public  flogging  and  ear  clipping 
were  not  altogether  infrequent  as  late  as  the  date  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  83 

impression  that  Wandee  was  guilty,  could  not,  in  the 
absence  of  counsel  to  question,  or  judge  to  rule,  other- 
wise than  bias  an  uninstructed  jury,  it  was  easy  to  see 
during  the  trial  that  a  tide  was  rising  which  was  likely 
to  float  the  prisoner  off  into  conviction. 

The  stories  and  little  items  of  hearsay  having  originally 
a  possible  indirect  bearing  upon  the  case,  had,  by  repeti- 
tion, like  snowballs  rolling  down  a  hillside,  gathered 
substance  as  they  ran  and  now  assumed  imposing  bulk. 
And  they  were  poured  unreservedly  into  the  ears  of  the 
jury,  however  irrelevant  or  incompetent;  and  as  he  or  she 
had  rendered  his  or  her  testimony,  he  or  she  continued 
without  abatement,  except  as  halting  to  take  breath, 
borrowing  from  conjecture,  probability,  and  possibility, 
colors  inimical  to  the  interest  of  the  man  on  trial,  as 
people  will  who  are  unused  to  opening  their  mouths  to 
the  public.  If  they  have  the  hardihood  to  commence 
they  usually  rattle  on,  pleased  with  the  music  of  their 
emanations,  and  delighted  with  their  new  and  important 
conspicuity,  never  knowing  when  to  stop,  but,  like 
syphons,  they  run  until  they  have  exhausted  the  fountain 
head. 

The  trouble  was  chiefly  with  the  Judge,  who,  although 
in  all  respects  a  sound  man,  was  just  now  out  of  his  ele- 
ment. Or,  possibly,  his  mind  having  predetermined  the 
result,  was  at  present  occupying  itself  with  prospective 
visions  of  cornfields  along  the  Quinnapoxit.1 

JThe  valley  of  Quinnapoxit  is  in  the  town  of  West  Boylston, 
now  soon  to  be  flooded  and  occupied  as  the  great  reservoir  for 
supplying  Boston  with  water. 


84  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

The  case  was  evidently  going  solidly  against  the 
prisoner,  and  many  an  eye  in  the  assembly  dropped  a 
tear  upon  a  bosom  where  palpitated  a  heart  that  loved 
mercy  more  than  what  men  call  legal  justice;  that  held 
human  life  at  a  higher  value  than  wide  cornfields;  hearts 
that,  without  the  aid  of  heads,  without  the  necessity  for 
duly  weighing  evidence,  jumped,  through  the  faculty  of 
innate  perception,  to  a  juster  conclusion  than  acumen  with 
its  cold  discernment,  than  wisdom  with  its  doubtful  scale 
of  weights  and  measures. 

And  now  the  evidence  was  all  in,  with  the  exception  of 
that  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  and  he  had,  so  far, 
declined  to  testify;  which  fact,  in  the  mind  of  the  Court 
if  not  of  the  jury,  conclusively  nailed  his  guilt  to  the 
wall;  for  what  could  be  more  likely  than  that  the  tremb- 
ling homicide,  in  view  of  his  close  proximity  to  the  land 
of  the  hereafter,  should  shrink  from  falsifying  under  the 
all-seeing  eye  of  the  Great  Spirit, — whoever  that  might 
be.. 

More  than  one  juryman  looked  knowingly  at  the  judge, 
and  throwing  an  askant  look  at  the  prisoner,  solemnly 
raised  his  eyes  toward  the  rafters  with  a  look  of  "of 
course  he  did  it. ' ' 

The  chances  are  decidedly  against  you,  Wandee.  The 
chances  are  that  a  Washakim  stake  fire  will  toast  your 
limbs  after  you  have  run  the  gauntlet,  when  every 
squaw  is  at  liberty  to  heap  indignities  upon  you.  But 
happily,  so  far,  not  a  Washakim — unless  in  disguise — is 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  85 

here  to  exult  over  your  conviction  and  his  pleasing  antici- 
pations. 

For  some  reason  they  have  kept  aloof.  Indians  never 
like  to  meet  large  bodies  of  white  men,  unless  the  whites 
are  asleep.  As  a  rule,  Indians  are  skulkers.  Bold  men 
among  them  are  rare,  and  when  such  appear  they  in- 
stinctively lead,  and  are,  through  instinct,  followed. 
They  need  no  election.  They  are  master  spirits  and 
gravitate  to  place. 

If  no  unforseen  circumstances  occur  in  your  favor, — you 
proud,  Hill  Indian,  you  are  as  good  as  doomed.  You 
must  run  that  terribly  humiliating  gauntlet;  must  suffer 
worse  than  a  hundred  deaths,  as  those  squaws,  standing 
in  double  line  and  each  armed  with  a  walnut  withe  will 
spit  upon  you  as  you  pass  between  them;  will  lacerate 
your  hide;  and  you,  bound  by  the  bleeding  wrists, 
are  helpless  to  resent  it.  And  then  they  will  send  you 
up  in  a  chariot  of  fire,  for  the  white  men  will  not  execute 
you  but  will  give  you  over  to  the  tribe  whose  chief  you 
have  murdered. 

But  the  Justice  is  on  his  feet. 

"It  is  within  the  limit  of  my  power  as  Justice  of  the 
Peace  for  this  plantation,  to  dispose  of  this  case  without 
resort  to  the  jury  form  of  trial  prescribed  for  the  white 
man  ;  but,  as  the  prisoner  stands  foremost  among  his  race 
in  talent,  power  and  respectability, — if  the  term  respect- 
able is  in  any  degree  applicable  to  an  Indian,  I  have 
thought  it  expedient,  somewhat  in  deference  to  Brother 


86  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

Wing,  to  give  him  such  benefits  as  civilization  accords  to 
a  Christian.  In  short,  to  give  him  a  trial  by  a  jury  of 
our  peers,  notwithstanding  he  is  only  an  Indian. 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Foreman  and  the  jury,  you  can  but 
appreciate  the  Christian  charity  hereby  extended,  espe- 
cially as  you  take  into  account  the  fact  that  he  is  j'et  a 
heathen, — never  having  been  baptized. 

'  'And  now  that  the  evidence  is  in  on  both  sides,  if  indeed 
the  case  of  an  Indian  can  have  more  than  one  side,  you 
must  confess  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  that  it  looks  mighty 
bad  for  the  Injun. 

"  To  sum  up  the  evidence  would  seem  wholly  superfluous, 
even  were  the  Court  so  disposed,  for  the  Court  holds,  and 
we  submit  it  to  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  that  nothing 
could  be  clearer  than  that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  is 
guilty  of  murder  in  the  first  degree.  I  had  no  doubt  of 
it  from  the  very  first.  If  it  were  indeed  possible  that  any 
lingering  vestige  of  a  doubt  could  still  remain  in  your 
minds,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  such  doubts  might  be  speedily 
dispelled  by  resort  to  the  proof  positive  which  comes 
of  that  ancient  and  lawful  system  of  ducking  in  the  mill 
pond,  which,  as  you  are  well  aware,  by  repeated  experience 
down  in  Marlborough  and  by  long  established  precedent, 
will,  if  after  having  seemed  to  drown  he  can  be  resusci- 
tated and  restored  immediately  to  full  vigor,  give  strong 
assurance  of  innocence,  and  if  he  die,  why,  being  guilty, 
he  deserves  his  fate. 

"  But,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  my  sympathies  with  the 
prisoner  in  this  trying  moment  forbid  that  I  should  force 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  87 

him  to  the  water  ordeal,  even  were  it  earlier  in  the  day 
and  we  had  time. 

"Has  any  one  anything  to  say  why  we  should  not  pro- 
ceed at  once  to  hang  the  culprit  to  the  Tavern  sign- 
post, or  otherwise  dispose  of  him  as  may  seem  in  best 
accord  with  the  interests  of  the  plantation  ?  Of  course 
we  must  wait  until  the  jury  return  a  verdict,  for  however 
we  may  regard  the  matter  of  guilt  as  a  foregone  conclu- 
sion, the  jury  must  be  entitled  to  respect  from  the  Court. 

' '  And  now,  if  any  white  man  has  aught  to  say  against 
passing  immediate  sentence,  let  him  speak,  or  forever  after 
hold  his  peace. 

' '  Captain  John  Wing  has  the  floor.  The  j  ury  will  please 
give  their  attention.  Right  dress,  eyes  right,  weight  of 
the  body  upon  the  ball  of  the  foot.  Steady,  front.  Go 
in  Cap'n." 

The  captain  was  already  upon  his  feet,  and  not  a  little 
embarrassed  by  the  situation,  All  eyes  were  turned  upon 
him  as  his  name  was  called,  and  he  scarcely  yet  out  of  his 
teens,  and  a  novice  in  this  new  position,  was — if  indica- 
tions were  to  be  regarded,  to  undertake  to  overturn  a  bar- 
rier of  prejudice  already  established  in  the  minds,  not 
only  of  the  jury,  but  of  the  seventy  or  more  gray-haired 
men  and  women  whose  faces  now  seemed  to  wear  the  un- 
relenting sternness  of  a  public  executioner. 

He  began: 

' '  As  advocate  for  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  it  is  my  priv- 
ilege to  call  a  witness  in  the  person  of  the  prisoner,  even 
though  he  be  but  an  Indian." 


88  DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM. 

"Is  it  lawful  sir,  to  place  an  Indian  on  the  stand  to 
testify  ? ' '  interrupted  the  Judge. 

"  I  think  it  is  lawful  Your  Honor,  in  any  Court  in  Mas- 
sachusetts Colony,  for  a  man  of  any  color  to  testify  in  his 
own  defence.  Wandee,  please  stand  up." 

The  Indian  had  no  sooner  got  upon  his  feet  than  he  was 
sternly  questioned  by  the  Judge. 

"  Have  you  been  sworn,  sir?  " 

"  Indian  no  swear,  white  man  swear  "nough." 

' '  Do  you  believe  in  the  Holy  Trinity  ?  In  God  the 
Father,  God  the  Son,  and  God  the  Holy  Ghost?" 

"  Too  much  lar'n  ;  me  no  "stan." 

' '  Do  you  believe  in  the  Bible  ?" 

' '  Do'  know  him.     B'lieve  Great  Spirit. " 

' '  Do  you  believe  in  God  ?  ' ' 

"Which  God?— White  man  got  free  Gods." 

"  We  mean  the  one  God — Jehovah." 

"Never  heard  las'  God,  'at  make  four.  Injun  got 
Great  Spirit,  white  man  got  God.  All  same." 

' '  Who  is  the  Great  Spirit  ?     Did  you  ever  see  him  ? ' ' 

"Great  Spirit— Big  t' ink— up  dar — Down  here — All 
roun' — me  know  him.  See  him  in  sun — see  him  in  tree, 
see  him  in  Deacon,  leetle  mite  bit,  you  guess." 

"You  may  have  the  witness,  Captain.  If  he  hasn't 
learned  to  swear  we  won't  teach  him." 

"  Wandee,"  asked  his  counsel,  "  did  you  meet  Shonto 
upon  the  day  and  date  when  it  is  alleged  you  caused  his 
death?" 

' '  Me  meet  Shonto. ' ' 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  89 

' '  And  what  happened  when  you  met  Shonto  ? ' ' 

"Me  kill  Shonto,  me  kill  Shonto  dead." 

"  That  settles  it!  "  said  the  Justice.  "  We  read,  '  out 
of  thine  own  mouth  will  I  condemn  thee. '  There  is 
nothing  more  to  say  in  this  case.  We  mustn't  show  the 
prisoner  the  disrespect  to  question  his  assertion.  I  think 
the  case  may  now  go  before  the  jury  upon  the  confession. 
There  wan't  a  doubt  in  my  mind  from  the  first." 

"  One  moment,  your  Honor!"  exclaimed  the  captain. 
"We  must  n't  be  too  hasty  in  this  matter.  I  have  the 
witness  and  have  not  done  with  him  yet.  Wandee  why 
did  you  kill  Shonto  ?  Tell  the  Court  how  it  happened. 
Tell  it  without  much  questioning.  Try  and  explain  it  to 
the  Court.  You  may  tell  it  in  your  own  way." 

"  No  big  talk,  Cap'n.     Me  no  like  big  talk." 

' '  But  you  must  talk  now,  Wandee.  Talk  for  me,  talk 
to  me.  Never  mind  these  people.  It  is  you  and  Cap'n 
John,  now.  L,ook  at  me  and  talk." 

"Yes,  me  talk.  Me  talk  yes.  Me  in  woods.  See 
deer.  Deer  run.  Me  shoot,  kill  deer.  Go  fetch  him. 
Shonto  out  come.  Me  know  where,  me  don't.  Shonto 
take  deer.  Wandee  take  deer  'way  off  Shonto.  Shonto 
fight." 

"Well,  you  fought,  but  who  struck  the  first  blow, 
Wandee?" 

' '  Me  no  strike.  Shonto  strike  here.  Big,  long  cut. 
See?  Shonto  strike  two  time.  Bad,  strike  bad;  cut 
stomach  all  open.  See?  Big,  much  bleed.  Me  mad, 


90  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

Me  drop  deer.     Strike  Shonto  one  time,  two  time,  strike, 
keep  strike.     Shonto  dead.     Me  glad." 

The  last  expression,  considering  the  time  and  place, 
was  quite  too  bold  and  savored  too  much  of  a  spirit  of 
satisfied  revenge  to  suit  the  ideas  of  the  deacon  in  his 
present  exalted  position  of  Justice  of  the  Peace.  The 
prisoner  must  be  reprimanded. 

' '  Does  not  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  realize  that  the  kill- 
ing of  Shonto  was  bad  enough  without  exulting  over  the 
crime?  The  prisoner  must  retract,  or  be  held  to  answer 
for  contempt.  Are  you  not  sorry,  Injun?  " 

"Me  glad!  Deacon  strike  Wandee,  me  kill  Deacon. 
Kill  any  man,  white — red — all.  Me  no  take  strike.  Me 
kill,  you  guess." 

' '  These  heathen  are  incorrigible.  You  can  go  on  with 
the  witness,  sir." 

' '  What  did  you  do  with  the  deer,  Wandee  ? ' ' 

"Me  skin  deer,  take  saddle,  go  home  to  wigwam. 
Squaw  all  hungry." 

"  When  you  had  taken  the  hide  from  the  deer  did  you 
observe  anything  peculiar  or  unusual  about  the  wound  ? ' ' 

"  Me  see  two  hole;  hole  bote  side.  Me  t'ink  ole  witch 
cut  'em.  Ole  squaw  all  roun'.  Come — go — no  see  'em. 
Me  no  shoot  two  arrer. ' ' 

"  You  may  be  seated,  Wandee." 

"Gentlemen  of  the  jury — I  know  little  of  law  or  of 
the  forms  and  processes  by  which  it  is  administered.  I 
have  so  far  seen  more  of  camps  than  courts  of  law,  but  I 
have  in  mind  a  legal  axiom  or  two  that  may  serve  me  in 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  9 1 

some  stead,  and  will  aid  me  where  I  might  otherwise  go 
far  astray. 

' '  You  have  heard  the  evidence  offered  by  the  govern- 
ment, with  a  view  to  fix  upon  the  prisoner  the  crime  of 
murder. 

' '  You  have  heard  the  open  confession  of  the  accused, 
and  it  is  duly  admitted  that  Shonto  came  to  his  death  at 
his  hand,  and  if  the  act  of  killing,  under  any  and  all  cir- 
cumstances is  to  be  denominated  murder,  then  it  is  useless 
to  enter  a  plea  in  this  prisoner's  behalf,  for,  as  the  Court 
has  suggested,  out  of  his  own  mouth  has  he  been  con- 
demned. But  before  passing  sentence  upon  the  accused, 
or  even  forming  an  opinion,  which,  if  unanimous,  is  when 
uttered  a  verdict,  it  is  your  bounden  duty  first  to  accu- 
rately define  the  term  murder.  Then,  as  murder  is  in  legal 
practice  divided  into  degrees,  you  must  ascertain  the  char- 
acter of  these  degrees.  And  after  considering  the  evidence 
adduced,  you  must  make  each  quality  or  degree  of  murder 
a  touchstone  which  you  can  apply  to  the  case  of  the 
prisoner  as  it  now  stands. 

"And  then,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  after  you  have 
made  the  application,  and  fail  to  find  a  correspondence, 
you  can,  as  the  killing  is  admitted,  view  its  relation  to 
what  is  termed  justifiable  homicide,  which,  if  it  is  so 
considered  by  you,  is  warrant  for  an  acquittal. 

"  In  considering  the  case  in  hand  you  will  understand 
that  murder  is,  of  necessity,  an  act  of  premeditation;  the 
execution  of  a  malicious  design  aforethought,  and  result- 
ing in  the  death  of  the  victim.  The  difference  between 


92  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

this,  and  justifiable  homicide,  lies  between  a  thought  dwelt 
upon  and  an  unlocked  for  provocation  of  the  instant  with 
fatality  imminent.  Even  when  death  ensues  upon  an  at- 
tack with  intent  to  kill,  the  act  is  not  necessarily  mur- 
der. 

"  If  a  person  is  assaulted  by  another,  and  with  a  weapon, 
it  is  for  him,  not  you,  to  decide  as  to  the  danger,  and 
upon  the  probable  outcome.  Time  is  then  short  for  delib- 
eration, and  the  law  of  the  colonies  under  which  we  live, 
as  also  the  law  of  the  land  to  which  we  own  fealty,  pre- 
scribes the  right  of  reasonable  resistance,  and  with  any 
weapon  at  command,  and  it  virtually  allows  the  use  of 
such  weapon  until  the  assailant  is  disarmed  or  disabled. 
But  who  shall  decide  when  that  point  is  reached  and  the 
victim  of  the  assault  is  assured  of  personal  safety  ?  Who 
shall  determine  the  conditions?  Who  among  you  will 
say  that  your  judgment,  and  that  alone,  shall  afford  the 
criterion  ?  Or  shall  say  that  the  resistance  should  have 
ceased  before  the  assailant  was  rendered  helpless  and  pos- 
sibly placed  beyond  revival,  and  that  because  it  did  not 
so  cease  the  defendant  is  therefore  guilty  of  murder  ? 

' '  lyet  us  look  into  the  nature  of  the  evidence  adduced, 
and  see  if  we  find  evidence  of  premeditation. 

' '  You  have  heard  it  said  that  Wandee  uses  arrow  heads  of 
a  peculiar  kind,  and  that  near  the  body  were  found  such 
arrows;  but  the  painstaking  to  establish  this  was  super- 
fluous, as  the  prisoner  confesses  that  he  took  the  life  of  the 
Washakim.  He  would  have  confessed  as  much  at  the 
outset  of  this  trial,  had  he  been  called  upon  to  plead,  as 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  93 

the  Court  would  have  been  bound  to  call  upon  a  white 
man  to  do. 

' '  Had  this  prisoner  been  arraigned  before  a  simple 
Justice  Bench,  the  summary  method  of  procedure  a  few 
moments  ago  intimated  might  have  found  a  legal  shadow 
of  excuse,  the  prisoner  being  but  an  Indian;  but,  fortu- 
nately, his  life  or  liberty  are  not  now  contingent  upon  one 
man's  ability  to  sift  evidence,  but  upon  the  combined 
judgment  of  twelve  men,  who,  if  too  high  in  the  scale  of 
human  social  existence  to  be  rated  as  his  peers,  are  the 
more  in  duty  bound  to  carefully  weigh  the  evidence,  if 
in  reality  any  such  evidence  is  to  be  found  among  the 
mass  of  verbiage  offered  as  bearing  against  him,  and  to 
see  that  justice  is  duly  meted  out  to  the  defenceless. 

"  Do  unto  him  as  ye  would  that  he  should  do  unto  you, 
were  he  the  strong  and  you  the  helpless  one,  never  for  a 
moment  forgetting  that  since  you  have  consented  to  sit 
in  judgment,  you  have  thereby,  for  the  time,  acknowledged 
him  your  peer. 

' '  Now,  as  we  have  admitted  the  killing,  and  as  no 
evidence  other  than  that  of  the  prisoner  has  been  offered 
in  regard  to  the  circumstances  attending  it,  it  may  be  well 
for  us  to  look  behind  the  scene  for  a  motive,  for  if  it  can 
be  established  that  there  was  a  motive,  or  a  reason  which 
might  have  instigated  it  other  than  self-defence,  the  fact 
will  weigh  heavily  against  the  accused.  Has  any  intima- 
tion appeared  of  ill  feeling  between  the  two  chiefs  prior 
to  this  event?  Has  any  feud  existed  between  the  tribes; 
any  animosity  whatever,  that  has  been  shown  or  intimated 


94  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

here  ?  If  not,  where  do  we  look  for  a  motive  ?  It  certainly 
was  not  robbery,  for  no  Indian  hunter  carries  valuables 
upon  his  person.  What  occurred  or  existed  prior  to  the 
event  that  could  arouse  premeditation  of  evil  ?  You  have 
heard  nothing  in  all  this  mass  of  hearsay  to  indicate 
malice  aforethought.  Nothing  in  all  this  deluge  of  guess- 
work to  lead  you  to  think  it  might  be  the  promptings  of 
a  spirit  of  revenge. 

' '  You  have  heard  the  testimony  of  the  prisoner.  It  is 
clear,  concise,  and  perfectly  easy  to  be  understood.  It 
needs  no  repetition,  no  elucidation.  It  is  a  plain  state- 
ment of  what  he  says  are  facts;  and  the  only  question 
for  you  to  decide,  in  the  framing  of  your  verdict,  is  one  of 
the  prisoner's  veracity. 

' '  It  is  out  of  the  question  for  anything  like  corrobora- 
tive evidence  to  exist,  except  you  consider  as  such  the 
wounds  he  bears  upon  his  person,  which  we  confess  are 
of  little  weight,  as  after  a  battle,  from  any  cause,  the  result 
might  have  been  the  same. 

"  But,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  holding  fast  to  the  con- 
fession as  one  point,  and  admitting  that  the  hearsay  evi- 
dence offered  is  true,  and  that  the  whole  chain  of 
guess-work  is  probable,  nothing  of  it  all  can  be  construed 
to  controvert  the  testimony  of  Wandee. 

"  Where,  then,  shall  we  look  for  a  solution  of  the  mys- 
tery ?  A  theory  respecting  this  affair  suggests  itself,  and 
through  your  further  forbearance  I  will  present  it.  The 
parties  were  both  Indians;  and,  like  Indians,  each  secreted 
himself  upon  the  discovery  of  game  at  rest  and  made  his 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  95 

shot  from  ambush.  Both  shafts  left  the  bows  at  the  same 
instant  of  time.  Now  if,  as  might  reasonably  have  oc- 
curred, one  missed  his  shot,  while  the  other  pierced  the 
body  of  the  game  with  a  force  that  drove  the  arrow  through 
and  beyond,  what  is  more  natural  than  that  a  dispute 
should  arise  with  regard  to  ownership,  and  that  such  dis- 
pute should  lead  to  blows.  If  blows,  then  a  battle,  and 
to  the  victor  belonged  the  spoil.  If  a  battle,  it  could  by 
no  means  of  argument  be  construed  into  a  murder,  for 
even  the  laws  that  govern  Christian  nations  hold  him 
guiltless  of  murder  who  defeats  his  opponent  in  a  duel, 
though  to  one  party  death  ensues. 

' '  You  have  heard  the  story  of  Wandee ;  you  have  seen 
his  wounds ;  you  realize  the  worthlessness  of  hearsay  and 
surmises,  and  as  you  retire  to  frame  your  verdict  you  will 
not  forget  that  if  any  doubt  exists  in  your  minds  as  to 
previously  entertained  malice,  or  premeditation  of  assault, 
you  cannot  convict  him,  as  to  him  belongs  the  whole 
weight  of  your  uncertainty.  If  he  killed  Shonto  in  self- 
defence,  you  cannot  convict  him.  If  he  had  the  provo- 
cation of  a  blow,  or  if  Shonto  died  in  battle,  you  cannot 
convict  the  prisoner  as  you  have  no  means  of  identifying 
the  aggressor.  And  you  will  allow  me  to  suggest  to  your 
minds  upon  retiring,  that  since  his  guilt  or  innocence  has 
been  left  to  the  judgment  of  twelve  men  to  decide,  he  is 
fully  entitled  to  every  consideration  you  would  feel  in 
duty  bound  to  accord  to  a  white  man.  I  have  done." 

A  burden  seemed  to  have  been  rolled  from  the  shoulders 
of  the  now  happy,  smiling  judge,  and  his  dignified  speech 


96  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

and  austere  manner  had  entirely  forsaken  him  as  he 
rose  to  address  the  jury. 

"The  apparently  learned  counsel  for  the  defense  has 
fully  charged  the  jury  and  thereby  rendered  it  wholly 
unnecessary  for  me  to  read  to  you  the  elaborately  pre- 
pared document  upon  which  the  Court  has  been  engaged 
for  the  past  week.  The  fact  is,  gentlemen  of  the  jury, 
but  little  remains  to  be  said,  for  the  Court  realizes  that  it 
has  got  itself  into  deep  water,  and  that  the  safety  of  its 
reputation  lies  in  the  precipitate  abandonment  of  the 
works,  or  in  capitulation. 

"Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  the  exigencies  of  the  case 
admit  of  no  parley.  The  attacking  party  is  in  possession 
of  the  works  and  has  spiked  the  guns.  That  happy 
thought  of  the  counsel  in  the  shape  of  a  theory  has 
utterly  demolished  and  forever  knocked  out  all  our  pre- 
conceived notions  in  respect  to  this  case.  If  we  had  been 
counsel  for  the  defendant  he  would  have  hung  higher 
than  Haman,  through  a  misconception.  But  now  I 
think  the  Indian  is  all  right.  The  jury  will  now  retire 
to  the  northeast  corner  of  the  court  room  and  aquit  the 
prisoner  without  delay,  or  as  quickly  as  a  decent  respect 
for  the  forms  in  such  cases  provided  will  admit  of. 

"It  is  especially  desirable  that  you  arrive  at  a  conclu- 
sion before  this  fire  goes  down,  for  I  see  there  is  no  wood 
left  on  hand." 

The  jury  retired,  and  three  minutes  had  elapsed 
(already  too  much  time  for  deliberation,  as  the  prisoner 
was  nothing  but  an  Indian,  and  as  the  mercury,  if  there 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  97 

had  been  any  in  the  colony,  would  have  indicated  five 
below,)  they  reported  ready  to  make  a  return. 

Once  more  the  now  crest-fallen  but  still  pleased  judge, 
with  a  facial  expression  divided  between  chagrin  at 
having  so  palpably  erred,  and  satisfaction  that  real  justice 
was  after  all  to  be  administered,  came  to  the  front. 

"Dress  up  men  and  come  to  salute.  What  say  you, 
Mr.  Foreman,  is  the  prisoner  guilty  or  not  guilty  ?" 

"  Not  guilty,"  was  the  quiet  response. 

And  so  ended  the  trial  of  the  proud  chief  of  the  Quin- 
sigamonds. 

But  a  more  terrible  ordeal  than  that  he  had  just  passed 
was  at  hand,  even  at  the  doors,  and  for  the  first  time 
since  the  trial  commenced  the  Indian  gave  visible  signs 
of  trepidation.  It  was  apparent  he  was  weakening. 
The  stoic  was  no  longer  equal  to  the  emergency.  The 
hardy  honesty  of  the  Packachoag,  whose  blood  he  con- 
fessed on  the  one  side,  and  the  stubborn  heart  of  the  fiery 
Quinsigamond  on  the  other,  cowered  to  the  occasion,  for 
there  at  the  doors  in  waiting  was  nearly  every  young 
woman  of  the  plantation.  While  not  a  few  of  the 
mothers  were  there  to  supplement  the  daughters'  acts 
with  a  pious  benediction. 

The  young  women  were  there  to  lavish  upon  the  hand- 
some and  now  free  Nipnet,  hearts  full  of  congratulation, 
with  tongues  sweeter  to  him  than  the  whistle  of  the  red- 
breast on  an  April  morning.  To  look  lovingly  into  the 
sublime  depths  of  his  calm  black  eyes.  To  even  kiss 
good  night  upon  his  soft,  tapering,  brown  fingers,  for  he 
7 


98  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

had  been  to  them  the  beau-ideal  of  a  perfect  heathen,  and 
when  he  came  to  grief,  and  their  instinctive  perceptions 
outran  the  measured  tread  of  the  law,  and  forestalled  the 
jury's  acquittal,  they  wept  at  the  tardy  ways  and  the 
purblind  sight  that  rendered  his  fate  so  uncertain. 

And  he,  the  now  more  than  ever  admired  young  Indian, 
with  an  affectation  of  blushes, — for  how  could  red  show 
redness  ?  lashed  on  his  snowshoes  and  glided  free  as  a 
hawk  in  his  soarings,  into  the  gloomy  depths  of  the 
hemlocks. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  COLONIAL  SUPPER. 

IT  was  the  evening  of  trial  day. 

It  was  four  of  the  clock,  noon  past,  by  the  thirty-hour 
sentinel  that  stood  in  the  corner,  and  out  of  his  old, 
black,  mahogany  dressing-gown  frowned  upon  such  as 
took  no  note  of  time,  except  as  he  hourly  admonished 
them  that  ' '  life  is  short  and  time  is  fleeting. ' ' 

The  sun  that  was  just  dropping  behind  the  close-at- 
hand  western  hills,  struggled  through  a  portentous  haze 
to  make  his  existence  appreciable,  as  he  seemed  for  a 
moment  to  halt  while  he  bade  the  little,  sleepy  world  of 
Quinsigamond  plantation  good  night ;  and  but  a  few 
moments  more  elapsed  when  here  and  there  a  fugitive 
flake  of  snow  seemed  sent  as  a  warning  to  the  women 
who  lived  upon  the  distant  hills  to  be  wary  of  the  ven- 
ture home. 

Captain  Wing  and  Digory  Sergent,  as  also  the  Rices 
and  Harts,  decided  that  it  was  best  that  the  matrons  and 
spinsters  should  lodge  at  the  Tavern,  or  at  least  should 
remain  until  the  storm  abated,  as  the  snow  was  already 
so  deep  that  even  by  daylight  it  was  next  to  impossible 
for  a  horse  to  keep  a  trail  at  a  gait  faster  than  a  walk, 
And  as  evening  had  now  shut  down  upon  the  plantation, 
in  the  midst  of  the  fulfillment  of  the  meteorological 


IOO  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

promise  of  the  day,  the  enormous  fire-places  blazed  and 
crackled  as  the  giddy  flames  waltzed  and  pirouetted  in 
their  ample  chambers,  or  chased  each  other  chimney  ward, 
shedding  a  benign  blessing  of  light  and  caloric,  each  over 
twenty  feet  square  of  room. 

Susan  was  sitting  in  a  far  corner  of  the  parlor,  her 
heart  fluctuating  between  hope  and  fear.  Hope  that 
after  all,  the  surmises  of  Eugene  Archer  might  yet  prove 
unwarranted,  and  that  the  conduct  she  so  reasonably 
deplored  in  the  captain  might  be  favorably  explained; 
fear  that  the  truth  might  be  even  more  startling  than  the 
first  intimation  was  painful. 

But  here  comes  John,  and  she  must  at  all  events  appear 
at  ease  lest  her  disconcertion  should  lead  to  the  detection 
and  betrayal  of  her  secret  and  forever  close  the  door  to 
further  discovery. 

"Tell  me,  John,  how  is  it  you  can  always  speak  con- 
siderately of  the  deacon  ?  He  seems  to  me  to  be  an  old 
bear.  I  would  not  trust  my  own  life  in  his  hands  against 
a  valued  stipend.  A  man  who  can  speak  so  flippantly  of 
murdering  by  process  of  law,  as  if  an  Indian  was  devoid 
of  soul  or  sense,  who  can  throw  his  avarice  into  the  scale 
where  a  life  is  being  weighed,  can  have  no  esteem  of 
mine. ' ' 

"Susan,  the  deacon  is  really  a  much  better  man  than 
you  give  him  credit  for  being.  He  has  until  now,  with 
some  show  of  reason,  as  he  knew  nothing  of  the  facts, 
regarded  Wandee  as  a  murderer,  and  as  such  deserving 
of  death.  But  after  hearing  Wandee's  statement,  and 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  IOI 

seeing  applied  to  it  tests,  and  unthought-of  explanations, 
he  has  changed  his  mind  and  would  now  be  the  last  man 
in  the  plantation  to  do  him  an  injustice. 

' '  His  bluff  introduction  and  procedure  in  the  case,  was 
the  result  of  a  settled,  though  too  hasty  conviction,  that 
he  was  dealing  with  a  blood-smirched  desperado,  and  what 
appeared  to  you  as  his  heartless  manner  in  retiring  the 
jury  was  the  very  reverse.  It  was  abounding  good  nature, 
for  he  had  seen  his  error  and  looked  upon  an  acquittal  as 
a  foregone  conclusion.  And  again,  to  partially  account 
for  appearances  which  you  condemn,  you  will  not  forget 
that  by  both  law  and  custom,  the  case  of  an  Indian  re- 
quires less  formality  than  must  by  the  same  code  of  laws, 
govern  a  case  where  a  white  man  stands  accused.  His 
allusions  to  the  intervales,  though  not  excusable,  are  no 
doubt  the  effect  of  the  frequent  recurrence  to  his  mind 
of  a  long-cherished  desire  to  possess  them  for  the  general 
good,  and  unfortunately  it  vents  itself  in  expression  at 
inopportune  moments.  I  have  never  had  reason  to  sus- 
pect that  the  deacon  would  willingly  be  party  to  robbing 
any  man,  white  or  red;  on  the  contrary,  in  every  thought- 
ful discussion  of  the  matter  he  has  invariably  favored 
ample  compensation,  and  the  equivalent  he  has  offered 
is  in  excess,  correspondingly,  to  anything  heretofore  paid 
to,  or  even  asked  by  them.  The  deacon  is,  no  doubt, 
tinctured  with  the  current  fallacy  that  an  Indian  has  no 
rights  a  white  man  is  bound  to  respect,  but  in  practice, 
his  native  honesty  usually  asserts  itself. ' ' 


IO2  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

' '  And  are  there  many  in  the  colony  base  enough,  wicked 
enough,  to  act  upon  the  principle  you  name?" 

"  Indeed  there  are,  and  it  is  the  many  who  are  at  fault, 
more  than  the  individual  who  puts  the  evil  into  practice. 
It  is  the  school  that  teaches  the  sentiment,  and  which 
honest  but  indifferent  and  inconsiderate  men  float  upon, 
and  designing  men  avail  themselves  of,  which  carries  the 
sin,  and  should  pay  its  forfeit." 

"  Upon  which  side  do  you  range,  John?  Do  you  se- 
riously regard  the  sentiment  an  error  ? ' ' 

' '  I  thought  I  defined  my  position  when  I  called  it  a 
sin.  I  differ  from  nine-tenths  of  this  community  upon  the 
subject.  To  me  it  seems  absolutely  wrong.  But  that 
opinion  is  no  virtue  in  me.  It  is  simply  a  matter,  or 
rather  the  effect  of  reasoning  based  upon  wise  suggestions. 
You  might  say  I  was  educated  up  to  it. 

' '  In  my  school  days  in  Boston  I  had  companionship  of 
men  who  think  beyond  the  little  wall  that  hems  in  a  city 
or  a  township.  Men  to  whom  and  for  whom  there  are  two 
distinct  worlds,  and  each  ever  present.  The  world  of  mind 
and  the  world  of  material  things  we  have  about  us.  I 
fell  into  a  course  of  contemplation,  piloted  by  my  elders 
and  betters,  which  led  to  opinions  respecting  rights  of 
races,  and  other  and  perhaps  more  serious  things  widely 
at  variance  with  those  you  observe  as  commonly  accepted 
here. 

"  In  such  society  man  takes  his  problems,  and  by  the 
methods  taught  him  solves  them,  works  out  his  own  con- 
clusions, by  analyzing,  assorting  and  massing  data,  and 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  103 

individually  takes  the  responsibility.  We  have  here 
among  us  a  few  such.  Men  of  limited  education  who  have 
acquired  habits  of  searching  for  the  bottom  of  things, 
and  working  up  instead  of  philosophizing  upon  surface 
indications  only.  But  I  regard  them  as  accidental  entities, 
who  would  be  out  of  place,  and  out  of  season,  could  the 
right  be  ever  out  of  season. ' ' 

During  this  long  dissertation,  the  chief  intent  of  which 
seemed  to  be  to  exonerate  the  deacon,  Susan  had  seemed 
to  listen.  But  indeed  her  mind  was  for  the  most  part 
absent.  She  was  speculating  upon  the  probabilities  of 
herself  becoming  number  two  to  masculine  selfishness 
and  duplicity.  But  as  the  captain  finished  his  remarks, 
the  supper  bell  in  the  hands  of  Black  Jake  sounded  for 
the  second  time  an  impatient  call. 

"  Come  John,  we  must  not  keep  them  waiting  longer, 
or  Aunt  Betsey  will  blame  me  for  detaining  you." 

For  the  moment  let  us  glance  at  the  supper  table, 
remembering  that  it  is  the  details  of  existence  that  make 
life  seem  real,  and  that  the  truest  introduction  to  society, 
or  to  individuals  of  a  particular  time,  is  to  acquaint  one 
with  the  particular  manners  and  social  adjuncts  of  the 
time. 

Do  not  forget  that  this  is  not  only  a  public  house,  this 
Castle  Tavern,  but  that  the  host  has  private  company  to- 
night. The  guests  at  this  tavern  must  not  expect  to  be 
served  in  courses,  nor  to  see  the  host,  after  he  has  done 
the  carving,  exchange  plates  with  every  individual  at  the 


104  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

table.  "  It  is  best  to  help  yourselves,"  was  the  old-time 
dictum.  You'll  have  no  servants  at  your  elbow  here, 
presenting  you  with  an  elaborate  ' '  menu  ' '  upon  torchon 
board,  illuminated  in  colors  upon  one  side,  and  delicate 
typography  upon  the  other,  and  encased  in  ornate  covers 
of  cloth  and  gold.  Here  they  are  all  equals,  if  you 
except  the  slave  Black  Jake,  and  his  family,  and  make  no 
account  of  a  half  dozen  Indians  who  have,  one  at  a  time, 
dropped  in  to  look  and  lounge.  And  you  need  not  listen 
in  the  after  sitting  for  that  pop!  and  the  burst  of  white 
foam  to  follow,  and  that  supplemented  by  a  gurgle  that 
shall  fill  the  atmosphere  with  the  aroma  of  Heidsic  or 
Schreider.  It  may  come — but  don't  wait  for  it  if  you  are 
tired.  Rum  and  royal  loaf  sugar,  with  perhaps  a  mug  of 
flip,  and  for  the  elect  a  possible  swallow  of  French  brandy, 
is  all  the  stimulant  you  are  likely  to  get. 

Some  of  the  community  had  even  objected  to  the  use 
of  these,  as  the  meek  little  Quakeress,  Mrs.  Danson,  who 
had  taken  Jim  Pyke  mildly  to  task  for  getting  drunk  four 
times  in  one  week. 

"Jeerns,"  said  Mrs.  Danson,  "thee  does  very  wrong  to 
take  into  thy  stomach  that  which  quarrels  with  and  over- 
powers thy  common  sense." 

To  which  the  not  now  bewildered  James  made  prudent 
answer. 

"Mardam  Danson,  you  must  confess  that  all  sorts  o' 
folks  use  stimerlants  stronger  nor  water;  it's  narteral 
mardam." 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  IO5 

"  I  'm  not  so  sure  they  do,  Jeems;  I  have  my  misgivings 
about  it." 

"Well  now,  mardam,  we  won't  beat  'round  the  bush. 
S'pose  ye  begin  ter  home.  Don't  you  drink  tea  jest 
about  as  often  as  ye  think  ye  ken  afford  it  ?" 

"Well,  yes,  Jeems.  I  can't  deny  it,  I  must  be  honest 
with  thee.  I  suppose  I  do.  But  the  cases  are  not  parallel, 
Jeems.  Alcohol  is  intoxicating  and  tea  is  not,  as  I  am 
aware." 

"Jest  you  hold  right  there  mardam,  and  I  '11  make  a 
p'int.  That  'ar  tea 's  a  stimerlant,  ain't  it? 

"  Go  on,  Jeems;  I  can't  do  thine  arguing  for  thee." 

"  Well,  it 's  er  stimerlant  an'  so 's  alkehall.  Alkehall 
mebbe  's  a  leetle  the  strongest.  It 's  accordin'  ter  how 
much  yer  take.  You  perfer  tea  ter  somethin'  a  leetle 
stronger,  an'  I  'm  not  er  goin'  t'  object.  That  '11  dew  very 
well  for  the  women  folks,  kase  they  sorter  keep  in  doors. 
Here,  mardam  's  the  p'int,  if  you  may  perfer  what  stimer- 
lant you  please  ter,  why  may  n't  I  enjoy  the  same 
perverlige?  unless  what 's  sarce  fer  the  goose  ain't  sarce 
fer  the  garnder.  In  which  case  you  'd  orter  be  made  ter 
drink  rum." 

"There's  no  use  arguing  with  thee,  Jeems.  Thee 
stands  too  much  upon  the  letter." 

"Oh,  ho!  Please 'scuse  me  marm;  I  thought  it  was 
mostly  the  sperit  you  're  complainin'  on.  I  guess  it 's  no 
sort  o'  use  your  try  in'  ter  argy,  s'  long  's  I  've  got  the 
whip  row,  as  I  seem  ter  have  in  this  yer  case. ' ' 


106  DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM. 

The  guests  and  family  at  this  our  supper  sitting  num- 
bered twenty,  including  the  parson,  who  was  a  boarder. 

All  being  seated,  one  universal  ceremony  must  be 
observed.  Divine  grace  must  be  implored.  Even  at  a 
public  tavern  a  blessing  must  be  sought  and  thanks  ren- 
dered. Nor  did  it  matter  that  several  of  the  party  were 
not  members  of  the  Church,  or  even  that  at  least  two  of 
them  were  guilty  of  the  sin  of  skepticism,  for  custom 
ruled  that  such  observances  must  be  regarded,  and  not 
even  John  cared  to  provoke  criticism  by  non-conformity. 
It  is  the  rule,  even  outside  of  the  circle  of  the  elect,  and 
although  you  are  among  the  prospectively  damned,  you 
will  bow  at  least  an  affectation  of  devotion  or  leave  the 
room. 

The  invocation  begins,  without  exception, — "  Merciful 
Father ;> — The  body  of  it  will  be  as  variable  as  personal 
command  of  English  and  native  volubility  can  render  it, 
but  the  sentence  preceding  the  final  glorification  is  in- 
variably— "Bless  to  good  use  what's  now  provided  for 
us." 

Having  reverently  united,  or  respectfully  deferred,  we 
lift  our  eyes  and  behold!  venison, — venison  roast  and  veni- 
son steak;  partridges, — partridges  are  as  plenty  as  black- 
birds; bear  meat,  and  a  joint  of  moose.  The  captain  says 
the  moose  was  shot  in  the  Podunk  woods,  and  the  bear 
was  killed  down  by  the  Assabet  River,  seven  miles  this 
.side  of  Marlborough.  Quails  are  here:  quails  split  down 
the  back,  broiled  and  laid  upon  brown  bread  toast.  And 
woodcock?  Not  a  woodcock.  There's  not  a  man  in  the 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  IOJ 

plantation  can  shoot  one.  The  bird  would  be  out  of  reach 
between  the  pan  flash  under  the  flint  and  the  ignition  of 
the  powder  within.  But  there  is  a  fine,  fat  woodchuck, 
and  a  young  coon,  both  taken  from  the  hollow  of  a  log 
and  none  the  less  fat  for  hibernating.  Wild  turkey  is  here: 
stuffed,  and  done  to  that  beautiful  tawny  which  the  cook 
calls  "brown."  Done  in  that  tin  kitchen  there  before 
the  fire,  where  Black  Jake  sat  for  an  hour  turning  the 
spit  to  give  the  sissing  fowl  its  final  bath  of  caloric,  while 
he  in  his  turn,  although  his  skin  could  never  take  brown, 
was  almost  as  thoroughly  stewed. 

You  have  seen  the  corn-cakes:  rich,  yellow,  and  sweet — 
the  "johnny-cakes  " — and  then  there  is  that  worst  of  all 
food; — the  worst  that  was  ever  eaten  ;  the  same  our  good 
mothers  in  the  country  were  stuffing  us  with,  here  inYankee 
land,  just  half  a  century  back, — that  soft,  soggy 'heavy, 
rye  bread.  If  I  had  known  it  was  coming,  I  would  have 
been  born  a  couple  of  decades  later  on.  No  wheat  bread 
was  there  at  that  table — the  one  I  write  off — not  a  kernel 
of  wheat  had  been  grown  in  the  country,  and  not  a  potato. 
A  Massachusetts  man  had  not  then  seen  a  potato,  but 
there  were  turnips  instead,  for  such  as  like  turnips.  And 
the  pasty  mince  pies, — the  art  of  making  them  is  lost  now. 
Stratified  crusts  with  three  hundred  flakes  to  the  layer,  a 
professor  of  geology  might  classify  them.  And  there 
were  "punkin"  pies,  the  cook  books  tell  of  them,  as  they 
are,  but  not  as  they  were.  Their  period  of  primality 
stretches  back  to  the  times  Azoic  when  all  good  things  of 
the  planet  were  semi-liquescent.  No  apples  were  nearer 


108  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

than  Marlborough.  No  fruit  was  there  of  any  kind  but 
native  dried  "huckleberries;"  but  our  grandams  were 
so  skilled  in  the  lore  of  the  kitchen  that  the  dried  berry 
plumped  to  its  full  'neath  the  spell  of  their  magical  cuisine. 
Coffee  there  was  none;  it  hadn't  been  naturalized;  was 
yet  alien  to  the  tables  of  the  colonists.  Tea  there  was. 
Very  fine  tea;  but  it  cost  "two  and  ten  pence"  a  tea- 
spoonful,  and  sugar  was  worth  "four  pence  ha'  penny  " 
an  ounce,  and  was  "  scurce  "  at  that.  Both  these  articles 
were  excessively  dear  for  most  of  these  ' '  nine-penny ' ' 
planters,  so  the  poor  went  without  them. 

Our  guests  had  been  busy,  for  the  landlord  carved 
zealously,  and  the  mother  and  sisters  were  busy  ' '  a  passin' 
things. ' ' 

Every  one  now  seemed  thankful,  as  the  Parson  inti- 
mated they  should  be,  when  he  cleared  the  way  for  attack 
by  his  invocation,  or,  as  Jim  Pyke  said,  "bragged  over 
his  victuals, ' '  and  now  came  the  liquid  blessings.  First 
to  come  was  cider  imported  from  Marlborough,  twenty 
miles  away.  But  the  cider  was  getting  hard  and  the  ladies 
preferred  ' '  a  little  rum  and  much  water,  with  a  trifle  of 
loaf  sugar."  The  maple  sugar  business  had  not  yet 
materialized.  The  Indians  held  the  maple  country. 

The  china  had  been  set  away.  Thirty  pounds  sterling 
for  a  china  set  (and  it  took  three  sets  for  the  party),  was 
an  item  worth  keeping  in  view  (of  the  housekeeper). 

Hot  rum  in  little  mugs,  hot  flip  in  quart  mugs,  with 
half  a  dozen  champagne  we  did  not  expect.  The  table 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  IOQ 

never  saw  the  like  before,  nor  would  it  now,  only  that  the 
Sergents  are  guests  to-night. 

With  grace  dolefully  said;  cheerful,  thankful  language 
uttered  in  mournful  tones,  dolorous  anticipations  of 
sitting  by  a  great,  white  throne  in  night  clothes,  as  an 
integral  part  of  a  white-gowned  choir  half  a-wing  with 
the  joy  of  fruition;  woeful  intimations  of  sorrows  impend- 
ing in  climatic  horrors  of  intensest  torridity,  ended  that 
supper  of  the  tenth  of  November  seventeen  hundred  and 
one. 

Well  for  this  party  if  they  enjoyed  the  feast,  for  before 
it  can  be  repeated  at  the  Castle  Tavern,  all  will  be  black 
with  smoke,  and  fire,  and  blood,  and  ashes. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

STIU,  PLOTTING. 

THE  whole,  cold,  dreary  winter  had  now  passed  away, 
and  April  had  come. 

The  blue-jay  and  the  little,  speckled  woodpecker  no 
longer  reigned  supreme  in  the  chestnut  forests,  as  when 
the  bleak  winds  of  winter  whistled  among  the  leafless 
branches,  and  the  occasional  crow  that  had  skipped  back 
and  forth  from  L,ong  Island  to  Massachusetts,  or  left  on 
some  sunny  day  the  windless  seclusion  of  a  cedar-tangled 
basin  among  the  hills,  where  robins  and  bluebirds  roost 
with  the  hibernates,1  now  reconnoitered  among  the  pine 
tree  tops  for  some  sheltered  fort  in  which  to  weave  her 
nest  and  deposit  her  eggs,  while  the  robin  and  bluebird 
ventured  forth  from  their  winter  quarters  among  the 
hackmatacks  and  interlacing  vines  of  grape  and  woodbine 
to  chatter  bird  love,  or  to  repeat  out  of  time,  and  out  of 
sequence,  half  remembered  snatches  of  a  summer  carol  in 
the  sunny  clearings,  or  among  the  budding  branches 
of  scraggy  oaks  and  wide-spread  elms  by  river  margin 
and  by  hem  of  lake.  The  brown  thresher  had  returned 

1  There  is  no  greater  common  error  than  the  supposition  that 
robins  and  bluebirds  of  this  climate  migrate,  or  move  south- 
ward to  any  great  distance  in  winter.  They  retreat  to  densely 
wooded  dells  and  winter  there. 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  Ill 

from  southerly  wanderings,  the  pigeons,  in  flocks  that 
seemed  like  black  bands  stretched  across  the  sky,  wide 
acres  in  breadth,  and  based  at  either  end  upon  the  blue 
horizon,  were  escorting  the  solstice  of  summer,  and  the 
wild  geese  and  great  diver  sportively  bowed  to  the  skulk- 
ing, red  savage,  and  honked  defiance  to  his  stone  headed 
arrows. 

Eugene  Archer  was  still  at  the  plantation,  a  guest  of 
John  Wing,  and  the  recipient  of  every  favor  and  polite- 
ness that  ample  means,  warm  friendship,  and  a  generous 
hospitality  could  bestow. 

But  the  lurking  devil  in  his  bosom  could  not  be  ap- 
peased. Where  he  was  at  first  intent  only  upon  winning 
and  betraying  the  unsuspecting  woman  of  Sagatabscot, 
his  thoughts  began  now  to  assume  more  serious  phases 
in  the  pursuit  of  his  nefarious  ends.  He  was  already  in 
humor  to  harbor  suggestions  and  to  take  counsel  of  a 
determination  so  unyielding  and  relentless,  that  it  pointed 
to  success  even  through  the  spilling  of  blood. 

Many  times  he  had  been  to  the  house  of  Sergent,  and 
as  often  plied  his  arts,  but  yet  to  no  purpose  further 
than  to  keep  her  mind  in  a  feverish  excitement,  the  effect 
of  jealousy  upon  one  hand,  and  of  his  relentless  impor- 
tunities upon  the  other.  Importunities  which,  while 
they  did  not  amount  to  assault,  or  even  unmistakable 
insult,  were  trying  in  the  last  degree  to  a  woman  whose 
whole  nature  was  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  if  not  the 
actual  worship  of  one  idol;  but  so  adroitly  had  he  played 
upon  her  temper,  stirring  her  to  jealousy,  pushing  her 


112  DOOM   OP   WASHAKIM. 

to  indignation  and  resentment,  and  urging  her  on  to  dis- 
pair;  softening  her  to  tears  by  his  full-mouthed,  simulated 
pity;  leading  her  upward  to  hope  only  to  crush  her  again 
with  some  damning  inuendo,  while  all  the  while,  just  out 
of  sight,  yet  half  disclosed;  insinuated  but  not  spoken; 
the  demon  of  a  secret,  that  she  dared  do  no  less  than  to 
harken  to  his  counsels,  keep  his  company,  and  smother 
her  dislike  of  him.  She  must  of  necessity  endure  him, 
and  as  she  did  so  she  made  closer  approach  to  her  would- 
be  seducer,  fearing,  and  fluttering  to  escape  the  deadly 
spell,  turning  to  this  way  and  turning  to  that,  but  with 
eye  ever  fixed,  she  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and  not  less 
for  the  loathing,  under  the  baleful  influence  of  the 
charmer,  almost  within  reach  of  his  incorrigible  passion. 

Again  and  again,  in  a  paroxysm  of  despair,  lost  to 
herself,  lost  to  consciousness  of  all  about  her,  reeling  from 
the  intoxication  of  woe,  he  had  caught  her  falling  figure 
in  his  arms  and  loaded  her  now  bloodless  lips, — half 
smothered  the  unconscious  beanty  with  kisses  reeking 
with  a  poison  more  deadly  than  the  fabled  upas,  more 
fatal  than  the  bite  of  cobra. 

But  he  dared  go  no  further.  Bold  as  he  was,  fierce, 
unscrupulous,  famishing  with  lust,  he  dared  not  ravage 
the  field  of  his  conquest;  dared  not  avail  himself  of  the 
advantage  he  had  won.  The  dreaded  bullet  of  old  Digory 
hung  over  him  like  the  sword  of  Damocles,  like  the  phan- 
tom dagger  of  Macbeth.  The  ghost  of  Sergent  glided 
through  the  imagination  of  Eugene,  and  between  the 
daughter  and  the  passion  of  the  ravisher  with  a  something 


DOOM  OF  WASHAKIM.  113 

like  "Meet  me  to-morrow  at  Philippi!"  And  she  es- 
caped; was  yet  unpolluted. 

Over  and  over  he  had  presumed  upon  the  power  of  the 
first  great,  hinted-at  but  unspoken  secret,  aided  and  abet- 
ted by  the  many  lesser  secrets  of  clandestine  meetings, 
where  she  had  been  beguiled  by  hope  of  hearing  the 
greater  one — the  one  concerning  an  heiress  in  Boston  to 
whom  John  had  seemed  to  pay  court,  at  least  to  the  extent 
of  frequently  escorting  her  to  parties  and  to  plays,  till  the 
tongue  of  the  town  was  rife  with  tales  and  side-spoken 
surmises  amounting  almost  to  a  scandal — divulged,  to 
propose  to  her  to  accompany  him,  or  to  meet  him  as  if  by 
chance  in  that  city,  where  she  might  hear  all,  learn  all, 
and  safely  cover  the  true  purpose  of  her  absence  by  a 
pretended  visit  to  the  boarding  school  she  had  but  a 
twelve-month  since  retired  from. 

That  excuse,  or  some  one  of  her  own  devising  might 
do,  for  was  ever  a  woman  without  the  wit  to  veil  a  serious 
intent,  or  to  thwart  suspicion  by  a  specious  subterfuge? 
To  such  proposals  she  invariably  gave  a  stern,  unqualified 
refusal  and  rebuke.  From  the  part  of  a  spy  upon  her 
idol  she  instinctively  recoiled,  but  she  saw  no  farther  into 
the  real  purpose.  To  leave  her  father's  house  under  false 
guise  was  base,  dishonest,  and  unbecoming  to  a  woman, 
in  her  own  view,  and  she  readily  acceded  to  the  instinctive 
prompting  of  a  guileless  nature.  Her  sense  of  honor 
overshadowed  the  tempter  and  his  designs,  and,  so  far 
from  advancing  his  interests,  half  exposed  his  scheming 
and  half  betrayed  his  villainy. 


114  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

Balked  and  vexed  beyond  endurance,  indignant  at  the 
frequent  miscarriage  of  his  designs,  he  began  to  plot  for 
the  destruction  of  the  man  who  stood  so  much  in  his  way, 
and  not  only  for  his,  but  for  that  of  Wandee  the  friend  of 
his  rival;  the  one  who  seemed  to  read  men  by  intuition  ; 
who  required  no  teaching  to  bring  him  into  the  possession 
of  knowledge;  who  seemed  in  league  with  omniscient  but 
invisible  entities,  and  whose  skill  at  divination  was  sure 
to  unravel  whatever  mystery  might  hang  about  the  taking 
off  of  the  captain.  The  chief  of  the  Hill  Indians, — he  must 
go  first,  as  being  the  quickest  to  suspect,  the  shrewdest 
to  fathom,  and  the  most  desperate  to  avenge.     Wandee 
must  die,  but  must  not  die  at  the  hand  of  Eugene.    There 
was  another  that  would  be  but  too  glad  to  compass  his 
death,  if  circumstances  could  be  shaped  to  afford  oppor- 
tunity.    In  the  ordinary  course  of  events  opportunities 
would  offer,  and  it  remained  only  for  Tehuanto  to  be 
advised  in  time;  and  as  for  the  captain's  death, — time, 
watchfulness,  and  seasonable  preparation  would  undo  any 
case  of  unsuspicious  assurance.     To  the  Washakim  chief, 
— the  feared,  and  hated  because  feared,  Wandee's  scalp 
would  be  worth  a  score  of  ordinary  Indians'  lives.    Te- 
huanto the  Washakim,  wanted  one  scalp  now,  and,  in  the 
development  of  a  grander  feud  in  process  of  unfoldment, 
another  would  be  wanted  soon. 

Eugene  had  more  than  once  consulted  Tehuanto  at 
Washakim  and  was  perhaps  the  only  white  man  who  could, 
at  this  time,  unguardedly  pass  the  secretly  hostile  Wa- 
shakim lines. 


DOOM   OF  WASHAKIM.  115 

He  saw  him  again  and  learned  that  the  hatchet  had 
been  secretly  lifted  from  the  earth  in  favor  of  the  great 
Wampanoag,  as  had  to  him  been  previously  intimated. 

Upon  condition  that  by  arrangement,  or  by  opportune 
apprisal,  the  two  chiefs — the  white  and  red — should  be 
placed  within  the  possibility  of  capture,  the  man  Archer 
was  assured  of  safe  passport  at  any  and  all  times  among 
the  disaffected  Indians,  and  that  he  should,  at  reasonable 
call,  be  furnished  aid  to  secure  the  prize  he  so  much  cov- 
eted,— the  woman  of  Sagatabscot. 

The  almost  daily  rides  of  Eugene  became  longer  than 
was  their  previous  wont,  and  at  the  same  time  he  more 
than  ever  courted  the  friendship  of  Captain  Wing,  and 
made  him  the  supposed  confidant  of  gleanings  from  the 
strolling  Indians  whom  he  met  in  his  peregrinations. 

His  finely  bred  mare  frequently  entered  the  stable  late 
at  night,  reeking  with  sweat  and  panting  from  long  con- 
tinued heavy  work.  Her  step  at  Digory's  clearing  was 
heard  at  longer  intervals  of  time,  and  Eugene's  manner 
gradually  changed  from  the  ardent  but  unrequited  lover 
to  the  outer  verge  of  studied  politeness  and  to  a  more 
general  attention  to  the  other  members  of  the  family. 

Captain  John's  semi- weekly  visits  to  Sergent's  clearing 
were  continued  as  usual,  and  no  one  could  have  guessed 
fronv  thejnanner  or  language  of  Susan  the  cause  of  that 
pallor  that  was  gradually  stealing  over  her  sweet  face,  of 
the  increasing  fullness  and  brilliancy  of  those  large  blue 
eyes, — of  the  frequent  compression  of  those  lips  from 


Il6  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

which  the  slowly  receding  blood  was  filching  the  halo  of 
carmine. 

She  kept  her  secrets,  for  they  now  numbered  many;  kept 
them,  although  they  lay  upon  her  tender  soul  like  sins; 
sins  feared,  sins  dreaded,  sins  repented  of  and  cancelled 
by  da3^s  of  mental  anguish  and  by  nights  of  voiceless 
wailings.  Kept  them  against  the  violent  throes  of  a  con- 
science that  struggled  for  confession.  Kept  them  because 
she  dared  not  do  otherwise,  for  who  could  understand  or 
appreciate  the  motive,  however  she  declared  it,  of  those 
clandestine  meetings  with  Eugene  ? 

And  Eugene  had  fostered  the  condition;  had  bidden  her 
look  within,  upon  her  own  soul,  and  discover  if  possible, 
the  shadow  of  a  fault  for  which  she  might  be  found  ac- 
countable, other  than  what  she  knew  to  be  their  harmless 
meetings. 

He  coyly  commended  the  impregnable  fortress  of  her 
chastity,  and  ardently  extolled  the  constancy  with  which 
she  regarded  the  beau-ideal  of  her  faultless  fancy.  Indeed 
he  frankly  confessed  to  something  like  abuse,  in  so  per- 
sistently making  her  the  subject  of  his  desire  to  sound  the 
depth  of  womanly  faith,  at  the  same  time  tendering  her 
pity  for  her  misfortune  in  fixing  her  choice  upon  a  faith- 
less object.  No  harm  could  possibly  ensue  from  what  had 
so  far  occurred  if  only  secrecy  were  maintained,  but  should 
the  community  become  aware  of  the  fact  it  will  not  readily 
condone  the  seeming  offence  against  what  it  is  pleased  to 
regard  as  proper  deportment.  Let  it  once  come  to  the 
common  ear,  and  the  tongue  of  scandal  will  run  riot  and 


DOOM   OF  WASHAKIM.  117 

gloat  in  nothing  so  much  as  in  consigning  a  fair  fame  to 
the  blackness  of  perdition.  The  men  might  pardon  the 
shortcoming,  might  even  excuse  a  failing  or  deny  a  fault, 
but  where  in  all  the  human  sisterhood  was  known  a  heart 
that  would  deign  to  forgive  or  even  palliate  ?  And  now, 
having  bewildered  the  woman  with  logically  considered 
consequences,  roused  her  fears,  softened  her  by  penitent 
confessions,  soothed  her  by  expressions  of  pity,  and  charged 
her  with  a  self- protecting  secret,  he,  with  fiendish  simu- 
lation of  pious  probity,  begged  her  to  consider  whether  it 
were  possible  for  him,  against  whom  no  man's  tongue  had 
ever  caviled,  to  so  far  forget  his  duty  to  a  friend  and  com- 
rade, his  faith  in  scriptural  teachings,  his  conscience  and 
his  God,  as  to  deliberately  aim  to  compass  her  ruin  and 
moral  death  by  robbing  her  of  a  jewel  so  priceless  as  a 
woman's  chastity. 

And  the  woman's  heart  was  at  last  won,  not  to  his  love, 
not  to  his  unhallowed  embraces,  but  to  the  duty  of 
shielding  the  character  of  one  who  solemnly  declared  he 
was  without  sin,  save  the  momentary  toleration  of  a  pas- 
sion which  her  own  sweet  face  had  stirred  to  frenzy. 

Susan  contemplated:  she  could  die,  die  with  her  secrets; 
but  she  could  not,  would  not  smirch  a  fame  that  vouched 
for  and  covered  her  purity.  Nor  would  she,  in  deference 
to  a  sentimental  prompting,  soil  the  name  of  one  who 
harbored  no  thought  of  evil,  and  whose  rashness  was  the 
result  of  what  he  had  blindly  fancied  were  her  own 
fascinations,  or,  was  it  indeed  blindness  ?  Was  it  not 


Il8  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

possibly  true  that  some,  to  self  unknown,  charms  of  hers 
had  ravished  his  probity  ? 

But  she  modestly  shrunk  from  entertaining  such 
vanity.  She  was  to  blame.  She  would  shut  her  lips 
and  endure.  She  pitied  him,  and  pity  between  equals  is 
akin  to  love.  It  is  the  green  room  to  the  stage  of  passion. 
She  almost  loved  him.  She  looked  forgiveness;  she 
looked  kindly,  trustfully,  and  what  would  he  more  ? 
She  made  no  sound  with  her  lips,  but  her  eyes  gave  token 
so  truly  of  her  thought,  that  Kugene  understood  her,  but 
he  was  too  wise  to  make  a  second  mistake.  He  knew  it 
to  be  the  white  flag  of  truce.  There  was  no  further  fear 
of  exposure.  She  was  as  securely  caged  and  manacled 
as  a  prisoner  within  walls  of  stone.  He  had  probed  her 
spirit,  fathomed  every  passion,  and  could  read  her 
thought  in  facial  expression.  It  no  longer  needed  a 
tongue  to  assure  him  that  her  virtue  was  bottomless,  and 
that  her  sense  of  duty  reached  from  earth  to  heaven. 
Neither  need  she  speak  to  say  that  he  was  already  half 
forgiven.  That  fact  would  give  him  rest  and  opportunity 
to  change  his  methods. 

His  purposes  were  the  same  and  irrevocably  fixed,  but 
their  accomplishment  must  come  through  other  means 
than  he  had  hitherto  resorted  to. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  AMBUSCADE. 

APRII,  was  now  on  the  wane,  and  the  budding  chest- 
nuts heralded  an  early  summer. 

The  winter  now  passed  had  been  a  terror,  even  for 
New  England.  As  each  succeeding  month  went  by  the 
frost-king  had  renewed  his  strength,  and  the  winds  piped 
louder,  oftener,  and  in  more  threatening  tongues. 

A  night  of  dismal  bowlings  under  eaves  and  over 
gables  was  succeeded  by  a  morning  where  the  hoar  frost 
in  the  atmosphere  lent  to  the  nearer  view  the  leaden, 
semi-opacity  of  distance,  while  drift  after  drift  of  snow 
piled  each  upon  the  one  preceding,  with  never  a  ray  of  sun- 
shine unobstructed  by  the  whirling,  dancing  snow,  or  a 
fog  warm  enough  to  appreciably  settle  either  or  any  fall. 

Neighbors  had  burrowed  from  house  to  house,  and  men 
tunnelled  to  their  barns  to  reach  the  lowing  cattle  chafing 
in  trepidation  at  the  endless  twilight. 

No  Indian  summer  in  November,  no  January  thaw, 
no  mildness  in  the  months  following;  but  occasionally  a 
frozen  sleet  would  crust  the  last  snow  fall  and  make  it 
possible  to  move  about  on  foot  without  snow-shoes,  but 
as  a  rule  a  woman  could  not  stir  out  of  doors,  and  no 
man  could,  to  any  purpose,  unless  he  rode  his  rackets 
well. 


120  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

And  yet,  with  the  frozen  rain  came  a  partially  compen- 
sating feature,  at  least  to  such  as  could  appreciate  the 
beautiful,  when  at  early  sunrise  the  limbs  of  leafless, 
ice-encumbered  trees  sparkled  in  a  dazzling,  prismatic 
blaze  of  beauty,  as  if  every  mine  of  gems  from  the 
Orient  to  the  Occident  had  been  rifled  of  its  glittering 
carbon  jewels  to  decorate  a  New  England  forest.  As  if 
the  fractured  bosoms  of  the  hills  had  yielded  up  their 
wealth  of  stalactites,  and  every  sea  and  ocean  bed  from 
India  to  the  Golden  Gate  had  loaned  their  pearls  to  beau- 
tify a  landscape  where  pines  and  hemlocks  bowed  and 
swayed  beneath  their  crackling  weight  of  splendors. 

But  yet  there  was  comfort  in  the  plantation,  for  fuel 
was  abundant.  Every  master  of  a  house  had  his  shel- 
tered cords  ot  wood,  all  cut  and  split,  and  of  back-logs 
and  fore-sticks  pile  on  pile. 

And  game  was  plenty,  and  easily  obtained;  for  what 
was  to  the  deer  and  moose  an  almost  insurmountable 
barrier — or  at  least  terribly  fatiguing,  for  at  such  times 
the  deer  could  only  move  about  by  leaps  that  cleared  the 
upper  crust  of  snow — was  nothing  to  man,  whose  inven- 
tive talent  enabled  him  to  walk  without  sinking  on  a  bed  of 
down  and  to  move  about  with  as  much  rapidity  as  if  a 
greensward  only  was  beneath  his  feet. 

The  partridge,  to  escape  inclement  weather,  would 
burrow  in  the  light  and  falling  snow,  leaving  traces  that 
a  hunter's  eye  at  once  detected.  Quails  gathered  in 
covies,  huddled  in  little  pyramids,  with  heads  all  pointing 
to  a  common  centre,  waiting  until  the  falling  snow  had 


DOOM  OF  WASHAKIM.  121 

builded  a  mound  above  them,  as  if  to  say — "  Here  lies." 
Immense  logs,  trunks  of  great  chestnuts,  windfalls  of  a 
century  past;  hollow  trunks  five  feet  in  diameter,  told  by 
the  lately  torn  inside  char,  not  less  than  by  the  snow  at  the 
open  end  wasted  by  animal  heat,  where  bruin  made 
his  winter  quarters.  Orifices,  denoting  cavities,  high  up 
in  the  old  oaks  and  walnuts  gave  token  of  insect  labora- 
tories teeming  with  the  nectar  of  daisy,  golden-rod  and 
arbutus;  and  the  wild  turkey,  sorely  discomfited, — since 
acorns,  chestnuts,  checkerberries,  and  even  hazel-nuts 
were  entombed  in  the  all-pervading  frost,  pecked  indus- 
triously at  the  hanging  pine  cones,  oblivious  of  the  wily 
hunter  and  his  noiseless  step. 

But  the  first  of  April  brought  warm  rains,  and  the 
snows  melted  and  left  patches  of  leafy  carpet  in  the  woods. 

And  the  rains  and  the  fogs  and  the  sunshine,  and, 
more  than  all,  the  high,  hard,  but  tempered  south  winds, 
tempered  by  the  sunshine  of  Virginia,  tempered  by  the 
leafing  forests  of  Long  Island,  rent  and  tore  the  crystal 
coverlet  of  the  lake  and  drifted,  ground  up,  and  dissolved 
the  ice. 

And  here,  upon  the  lake,  on  a  soft  April  evening,  by 
starlight,  but  more  by  the  light  of  a  huge  pitch  pine  torch 
borne  by  an  Indian  standing  in  the  bow  of  a  canoe, 
a  white  man  and  an  Indian,  the  white  man  sitting  flat 
upon  the  bottom  of  the  birch,  with  a  three-tined  spear  in 
his  hand,  were  paddling  cautiously  along  and  near  the 
shore,  looking  for,  and  every  moment  lifting  into  the 
canoe,  pickerel,  trout  and  perch. 


122  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

They  had  left  Wigwam  Hill  and  were  paddling  past 
the  round  hill  on  the  plantation  side  to  the  west  of  the 
island  by  the  upper  narrows,1  when  a  whistling  sound 
close  by  their  ears  followed  by  another  and  still  another, 
a  thud  in  the  water  close  at  hand,  a  splash  and  a  skip 
beyond,  and  a  sharp  vibrating  sound,  such  as  a  stiff 
strung  sinew  gives  out  when  freed  from  tension,  caused 
the  Indian  to  drop  his  torch  into  the  lake,  and  himself 
into  a  sitting  position  in  the  canoe. 

Four  stout  arms  now  sent  the  vessel  flying  through 
the  water  and  out  of  bow-shot  range. 

"How  is  that,  Wandee?  Whose  scalp  was  it  meant 
for?  "  inquired  Captain  John. 

' '  Me  do'  know — shoot  good — cut  leetle  bit  ear — some 
bleed — scalp  all  good. ' ' 

''Duck,  Wandee  !"  exclaimed  the  captain,  and  both 
men  went  flat  into  the  bottom  of  the  boat  and  heard 
another  thud,  and  another  ominous  whizzing  sound.  But 
the  arrow  fell  short.  They  were  out  of  range. 

"Long  shoot — no  Injun.  Injun  know  better.  Trow 
'way  arrer." 

"  Who  but  an  Indian  shoots  an  arrow,  Wandee?  " 

"  Do' know — big  fool — Injun  shoot,  Injun  big  fool — 
maybe  Washakim. ' ' 

Both  were  now  sitting  upright,  satisfied  of  their  safety. 

"  See  them  skip  through  the  hemlocks!"  called  out  the 
captain,  who  was  already  sweeping  the  shore  line  with 
his  levelled  rifle. 

1  Upper  narrows —  the  stone  bridge. 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  123 

"  Crack!"  went  the  piece,  and  an  Indian  fell  and  rolled 
down  into  the  lake. 

A  second  discharge,  that  from  Wandee's  rifle,  and 
another  fell,  but  rallied  again  and  went  on,  supporting 
himself  partly  by  the  low  branches,  and  partly  by  the 
scattering  spoonwoods,  while  two  of  his  companions 
necessarily  exposed  themselves  in  their  efforts  to  save  the 
wounded  Indian's  scalp,  either  by  aiding  him  in  flight, 
or  by  secreting  him  in  some  near-at-hand  thicket,  for  the 
scalp  .of  an  Indian  is  of  more  value  than  his  life.  He 
could  yield  up  the  latter  gracefully,  as  grace  in  the 
struggles  and  contortions  of  personal  conflict  goes,  but  to 
yield  up  to  an  enemy  a  trophy  of  that  enemy's  valor  is 
too  humiliating  for  an  Indian. 

"  Good  shoot!"  muttered  Wandee,  as  he  dropped  the 
reloaded  barrel  of  the  old  flint-lock  to  a  level. 

Another  opportunity,  too  good  to  be  lost. 

"  Bang! "  went  the  old  smooth-bore,  and  as  the  reflec- 
tion of  sound  zig-zagged  down  the  lake  from  shore  to 
shore  and  died  away  upon  the  ear,  the  sharp  yell  of  an 
Indian,  a  yell  half  of  pain,  half  of  defiance,  was  followed 
by  fifty  answering  voices,  for  the  Hill  Indians  had  been 
aroused  by  the  first  report  of  fire-arms,  and  approximating 
in  thought  to  its  import  had  covered  the  intervening 
space  and  were  now  darting  through  the  chestnut  woods 
and  up  the  round  hill  like  ground  shadows  when  wind- 
driven  scuds  flit  across  the  pathway  of  the  sun. 

"Good  shoot!  Good  shoot!  Go  for  scalp!"  and  the 
young  chief  held  the  rusty,  old  Queen's  arm  up  to  the 


124  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

moonlight,  affectionately  patting  stock  and  lock,  while 
mouthing  his  verbal  caresses  in  a  spasm  of  delight  and 
admiration. 

The  captain  and  Wandee  were  but  a  moment  in  reach- 
ing the  shore.  There  was  no  fear  of  ambush  now.  That 
yell  of  the  pursuing  Quinsigamonds  in  an  almost  contin- 
uous shriek,  had  warned  the  Washakims  to  retreat  toward 
the  Twin  Lakes  as  rapidly  as  feet  could  carry  them. 

Search  for  the  trail  was  already  begun.  But  a  moment 
had  elapsed  after  landing  from  the  canoe  when  a  gutteral 
sound  from  Wandee,  uttered  scarcely  above  a  murmur, 
assured  the  party  that  he  had  struck  a  trail  and  was 
following  up  by  slow  and  cautious  steps  such  indica- 
tions as  the  moonlight  disclosed,  for  every  tree  by  its 
shadow  obscured  it  and  necessitated  more  careful  scrutiny. 
Down  from  the  hill  and  across  the  old  corn  land,  land  not 
as  now  covered  with  water,  land  where  the  City  Farm's 
Brook  enters  the  lake.  Here  the  trail  was  very  distinct. 

This  short  cut  through  the  opening  would  have  been 
avoided  had  not  the  pursuit  been  too  hot.  As  the  trail 
was  now  clearly  visible  to  the  eye  of  Wandee  he  broke 
into  a  shap  run.  Did  the  reader  ever  see  a  wild  Indian 
run?  It  is  no  such  hurry-scurry,  break-neck,  one  hundred 
yard  gait  as  the  latter-day  white  sprinters  affect,  where  the 
runner  must  be  sponged  and  rubbed  and  fanned  to  restore 
the  lungs  to  their  normal  habit  of  contraction  and  ex- 
pansion with  healthful  regularity,  but  a  swinging  lope 
of  ten  miles  to  the  hour;  one  that  could  be  kept  up 
from  a  meridian  to  a  setting  sun.  A  low  bent  figure, 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  125 

slouchy,  creeping,  stealthy  and  snake-like  in  movement, 
flitting  past  you  as  does  the  startled  mother  cat- bird, — 
here,  there,  and  gone.  And  Wandee's  gait  was  one  that 
soon  put  distance  between  him  and  the  fleetest  hunter  of 
the  tribe,  for  he  was  an  Indian  athlete  and  had  no  peer 
in  the  Nipnet  nation.  / 

The  sun  rose  beautifully  over  Shrewsbury  hills,  and 
fixing  his  crimson  eye  upon  the  flat  under  Old  Wig- 
wam Hill  vainly  sought  for  the  gallant  young  chief  of  the 
Quinsigamonds,  and  in  default  of  finding  him  screened  it 
in  a  cloud-tear,  the  portent  of  a  day  of  weeping.  A  well- 
timed  obsequy, — for  Wandee  is  in  bonds.  The  tough, 
green  walnut  withes  are  cutting  their  way  into  his  wrists 
and  ankles  and  the  stake  is  set  to  burn  him  to  a  crisp. 

The  old  witch  squaw  is  here  at  the  Hill  and  is  tramping 
up  and  down  among  the  wigwams  wringing  her  hands, 
muttering  imprecations  and  fuming  like  a  wild  beast,  a 
goaded  lunatic,  or  a  woman  in  a  spasm  of  anger.  Her 
inner  eye  has  caught  on  to  conditions  that  never  a  soul 
here  has  dreamed  of.  The  scouts  had  all  returned  by  sun- 
rise, and  the  white  man  had  returned  to  the  Castle  two 
hours  in  advance  of  it.  No  particular  alarm  was  felt  ex- 
cept it  was  that  something  which  had  so  wrought  upon 
the  old  squaw — and  she  as  usual  took  no  partners  into 
her  seance  —  until,  with  the  sun  two  hours  high  it  com- 
menced raining;  a  cold,  drizzling  northeaster. 

The  chief  should  have  certainly  been  at  home  by  sunrise, 
or  at  least  should  have  known,  when  it  rose  and  went 


126  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

into  a  cloud  that  rain  would  soon  follow;  should  have 
known  by  the  mottled  sky  of  the  evening  previous  and 
by  the  distinct  lunar  circle  inclosing  a  single  star  that  the 
day  would  be  stormy,  and  that  a  little  rainfall  would  ut- 
terly obliterate  every  remnant  of  a  trail. 

Indeed,  he  had  already  taken  time  enough  to  go  to 
Washakim  and  return. 

In  the  afternoon  Captain  Wing  appeared  upon  the  scene, 
having  come  on  horseback  by  the  Millstone  Hill  path  and 
wigwam  trail. 

The  warriors  were  assembled,  and  were  beginning  to 
regard  the  absence  of  Wandee  with  a  feverish  excitement, 
not  so  manifest  in  their  general  manner,  as  in  the  eye, 
often  fixed  as  in  absent  thought,  and  an  illy  concealed 
nervousness  of  movement  or  twitching  of  muscle. 

The  captain  made  but  a  brief  stay,  and  started  for  home 
puzzled  and  sad.  And  now,  as  the  sun  neared  the 
western  horizon  where  he  makes  an  early  sitting  behind 
the  summit  of  Millstone  Hill,  suspicion  began  to  be  mani- 
fested that  the  white  men  were  in  some  way  concerned  in 
t  he  mysterious  absence  of  their  chief. 

No  one  would  for  a  moment  harbor  a  suspicion  that  the 
captain  was  privy  to  it,  but  much  had  been  said  from 
time  to  time  by  the  praying  Indians,  of  overhearing 
expressed  desire  to  obtain  possession  of  the  Washakim 
corn  lands  on  the  Quinnapoxit,  and  what  if  a  compact 
had  been  made  whereby  the  chiefs  murder,  or  perhaps 
delivery  to  the  Washakims,  should  be  made  the  equiva- 
lent for  broad  acres  ? 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  127 

The  Twin  L,ake  tribe  would  sacrifice  much  to  avenge 
themselves  of  Shonto's  death.  Tehuanto  had  said  so; 
said  so  in  the  presence  of  the  praying  Indians,  the  Packa- 
choags.  To  court  their  favor  and  acquire  their  lands 
might  not  the  white  men  have  waylaid  him  and  effected 
with  the  bullet  what  few  would  have  the  hardihood  to 
attempt  in  a  more  equal  contest, — what  no  half-dozen 
Washakims  would  risk  with  only  arrows  and  tomahawks; 
what  Tehuanto,  himself  a  warrior  of  no  slight  renown, 
would  shrink  from  in  dismay  ? 

The  Indians  of  Wigwam  Hill  were  fast  verging  towards 
a  vicious  mood.  They  said  in  their  dialect,  as  fairly 
interpreted,  "White  men  are  not  all  Captain  Johns. 
Some  are  deacons,  and  deacon  wants  land.  Some  are 
preachers,  and  preachers  talk  of  baptism  and  blood,  and 
of  washing  in  blood  as  if  it  was  a  holy  and  commendable 
thing.  And  if  the  white  men  can  wash  themselves  in  the 
blood  of  one  of  their  own  brothers,  and  suffer  no  remorse, 
but  rather  glory  in  it,  what  may  we, — who  are  too  poor 
to  own  houses  and  have  only  colored  beads  for  wampum, 
whose  only  weapons  are  a  bow  and  tomahawk, — what  may 
we  expect  at  their  hands  if  we  stand  in  the  way  of  their 
never  satisfied  greed?  However  well  they  may  have 
treated  us  since  they  drenched  our  fathers  with  fire-water 
and  robbed  them,  they  are  at  best  bad  men,  and  if  they 
do  us  no  harm  now,  it  is  because  they  have  nothing  to 
gain  of  us. ' ' 

Peace,  Indians;  you  shall  see  your  chief  again  or  shall 
see  him  terribly  avenged. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

KING  PHILIP  AT  THE   COUNCIL   FIRE. 

THE  prospects  of  the  little  plantation  began  now  to 
wear  a  gloomy  aspect,  and  the  thoughtful  ones  were  full 
of  dark  forebodings.  The  Washakim  Mission  had  been 
broken  up,  and  the  converted  Packachoags  dismissed 
with  a  message  in  the  form  of  a  protest  against  the  clearing 
of  more  land  on  the  Quinnapoxit  by  white  men,  and  also 
complaints  that  the  whites  had  commenced  breaking  land 
on  the  lower  intervales,  lands  reserved  by  the  Indians 
expressly  for  corn  planting. 

The  land  had  been  tilled  by  them,  after  their  rude 
fashion,  from  as  far  back  as  tradition  extended.  It  was 
their  hope,  their  reliance,  their  birthright. 

It  had  at  times,  when  game  was  scarce,  saved  their 
tribe  from  starvation,  and  they  were  in  no  mood  to 
relinguish  possession  for  a  song,  as  had  the  Quinsiga- 
monds  when  they  sold  the  hillsides  and  valley  of  the 
Bimeleck.  If  the  Quinsigamonds  had  been  unwisely 
generous,  or,  what  was  more  likely,  stupid  under  the 
influence  of  that  efficient  co-worker  with  the  white  man 
when  civilization  arrays  itself  against  barbarism,  strug- 
gling for  mastery  without  resort  to  force,  they  had  at 
least  bequeathed  an  example  to  the  neighboring  tribes  of 


DOOM   OF   WASHAEJM.  129 

the  folly  of  relying  upon  strangers  to  dictate  both  sides 
of  a  bargain. 

Hardly  had  the  planters  recovered  from  their  surprise 
at  the  temerity  of  the  Washakims  in  daring  to  dismiss 
the  Mission  and  to  boldly  assert  their  rights,  before 
delegates  from  the  Quaboags,  the  Quinnapoxits,  the 
Wachusetts  and  the  near-at-hand  Asnebumskits  came  in 
with  similar  complaints,  and  intimations  of  trouble  if  the 
aggressions  were  persisted  in,  and,  what  was  stranger  than 
all  else,  and  from  its  very  strangeness  the  quickest  to 
awaken  the  ready  apprehension  of  the  white  men  to  a 
sense  of  danger,  was  the  absolute  refusal  of  every  member 
of  each  delegation  to  taste  of  spirits. 

Never  before  had  a  wayworn  Indian  declined  this 
proffered  politeness,  and  it  was  well  known  that  any 
Indian  would  go  cold,  go  hungry,  go  without  sleep,  to 
obtain  it.  They  must  be  acting  under  authority  more 
feared,  more  respected,  than  the  white  man  supposed  to 
exist. 

How  came  about  this  unison  of  purpose  and  determina- 
tion? This  acting  as  of  one  accord  by  parties  blown 
together  from  the  four  winds  ?  It  was  indeed  a  stagger- 
ing mystery  and  argued  complicity  among  the  tribes  or 
obedience  to  some  dominant  will,  and  in  either  case 
conspiracy,  but  to  what  purpose  could  be  only  a  matter 
of  conjecture. 

Nearly  the  whole  plantation  were  soon  in  a  fever  of 
excitement  and  alarm.  There  were  exceptions  among 
them.  Digory  Sergent,  whom  the  neighbors  said  did  not 
9 


130  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

fear  the  face  of  red  clay;  Captain  John  Wing,  who  seemed 
to  lead  a  charmed  life,  and  who  had  so  far  in  fact 
ingratiated  himself  into  the  good  will  of  the  savages  that 
in  time  of  peace  they  seemed  to  accept  him  as  a  pet 
leader  and  oracle  of  the  tribes,  and  who  had  ordinarily 
the  most  complete  control  over  them  without  seeming  to 
bear  command;  Gershom  Rice,  who  had  passed  two  years 
among  the  Indians  utterly  alone,  and  had  commanded 
not  only  their  respect  but  love,  so  far  as  an  Indian  is 
capable  of  entertaining  or  manifesting  the  sentiment; 
Parson  Meekman,  he  who  mingled  the  love  of  Jesus  with 
the  valor  of  the  Crusader;  Jim  Pyke,  and  some  others, 
who  had  in  the  course  of  events  actually  tasted  heathen 
blood,  were  among  the  unterrified.  And  Eugene  Archer 
was  there,  indifferent  as  usual.  He  neither  feared  nor 
cared  for  them,  but  simply  despised  the  whole  race  of 
red-skins. 

Some  others,  as  the  matter  was  talked  over,  seemed  to 
have  imbibed  that  contempt  which  comes  of  familarity, 
but  even  such — excepting  perhaps  the  pastor,  who  had, 
strictly  speaking,  no  family  ties,  and  whose  bovine  pluck 
knew  no  intermediate  sphere  between  Christian  duty  and 
pugnacity — had  wives  and  sons,  daughters  and  sisters, 
and  were  disposed  at  least  to  regard  their  safety. 

At  a  casual  gathering  of  the  white  men  at  the  Castle 
Tavern  it  was  decided  that  the  Justice — ordinarily 
Deacon  Henchman — should  call  a  meeting  at  once,  to 
consider  the  safety  of  the  plantation,  and  also  such  other 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  13! 

business  as  might,  without  special  warrant,  come  before 
the  meeting. 

The  date  of  the  meeting  was  fixed  for  the  Thursday 
following,  and  as  Sergeut,  Curtis,  and  both  the  Rices 
were  there,  it  would  be  easy  for  them  to  notify  all  except 
such  as  lived  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  Castle. 

Before  the  party  broke  up  Captain  Wing  informed 
them  that  he  had  come  in  possession  of  certain  knowl- 
edge that  bad  blood  was  manifest  among  the  Wigwam  Hill 
Indians.  That  they  had  distinctly  avowed  their  belief 
that  Wandee,  whom  the  white  men  knew  to  be  strangely 
absent,  had  been  waylaid  and  murdered  by  them  to  gain 
favor  of  the  Washakims,  and  to  use  that  power  in 
furtherance  of  their  designs  upon  the  corn  lands  of  the 
Quinnapoxit. 

"The  Quinsigamonds, "  said  the  captain,  "will  be 
slow  to  dig  up  the  hatchet,  but  unless  something  is  done 
to  disabuse  their  minds  of  this  suspicion,  or  from  some 
other  source  something  definite  comes  to  hand  respecting 
the  fate  of  Wandee,  no  man  can  fail  to  see  the  dangerous 
tendency  of  the  tribe,  which,  although  the  smallest  in 
point  of  numbers,  can  easily  make  themselves  the  most 
formidable,  from  the  fact  that  they  possess  a  score  or  so 
of  muskets,  and  ammunition  in  abundance.  You  are  well 
aware  that  they  have  regarded  their  young  chief  with  the 
love'of  a  brother,  and  almost  the  reverence  due  to  Deity. ' ' 

"Then,  indeed,"  said  the  parson,  who  had  been  an 
attentive  listener  to  the  captain's  remarks,  "then,  indeed, 


132  DOOM  OF  WASHAKIM. 

I  for  one  exult  in  his  timely  taking  off,  for  is  it  not  written: 
'  Thou  shalt  have  no  other  gods  before  me  ?  " ' 

The  deacon  had  been  sitting  for  several  minutes,  look- 
ing intently  at  the  great  iron  crane  in  the  now  cold  fire- 
place, and  with  his  cane  poking  the  S  shaped  pot  hooks 
back  and  forth,  apparently  so  absorbed  in  meditation  that 
neither  the  warnings  of  the  captain  nor  the  gallant  re- 
joinder of  Parson  Meekman  had  aroused  him. 

But  now  the  face  of  the  old  time-piece  looked  down  upon 
him  from  its  high  perch  next  the  ceiling,  and  in  a  clear, 
sharp,  bell-like  note,  called  out  to  him — may  be  to  all — 
"one — two — three — four,"  and  gazing  down  upon  its 
pendulum  as  it  wagged  industriously  just  above  the  floor, 
ticked  out,  "  and  more  to  come." 

"Well,  well!"  called  out  the  deacon,  starting  to  his 
feet,  "this  won't  do.  It's  nigh  on  to  milking  time  and 
some  of  you  have  far  to  go.  I  guess  the  intervales  won't 
be  ploughed  up  by  us  this  year. ' ' 

This  was  on  Monday,  and  it  was  arranged  that  the 
meeting  of  the  planters  should  occur  at  two  of  the  clock 
p.  M.  on  the  day  named. 

And  while  the  planters  are  asleep  to-night  let  us  stroll 
over  the  great  hill1  and  down  to  Wigwam  and  the  Lake, 
for  far  away,  down  the  blue  Nipnap,  we  hear  the  dip  of 
many  paddles. 

The  moon  shines  brightly ;  it  is  nearly  full.     That  long 

i Millstone  Hill— "The  great  hill." 


DOOM  OF   WASHAKIM.  133 

stretch  of  lake  water  gleams,  flashes,  glitters  and  dances 
in  the  moonbeams  as  the  feeble  breath  of  south  wind  stirs 
it  into  tiny  ripples. 

We,  under  the  shadow  of  the  great  hemlocks  near  the 
summit  of  Wigwam  Hill,  stand  half  appalled  as  now  and 
then  a  flying  scud  spins  across  the  cold  white  disc,  and 
its  transient,  unstable  counterpart  jumps  over  moonlit 
ground  to  lose  itself  in  the  dense  shadows  at  our  feet. 

Wigwam  Hill  can  never  look  so  wild,  so  wierd  again. 
And  yet  within  the  next  two  centuries  no  change  shall 
come,  save  the  felling  of  a  few  old  trees,  to  be  replaced 
again;  and  a  green  plat  covered  with  snowy  tents  for 
vanished  wigwams ;  and  sporting  shells  in  place  of  birch 
canoes ;  and  the  bearded  white  men  for  the  wampumed 
bare-faced  Indian. 

The  lake, — how  altered,  and  how  happy;  noise  enough, 
but  it  is  all  music;  life  enough,  but  it  is  all  peaceful ; 
enough  to  see,  but  it  is  all  the  beauty  of  nature  embel- 
lished by  art.  The  old  chestnut  forests  and  the  dark  pine 
headlands  still  linger,  still  struggle  to  maintain  supremacy 
among  the  varied  features  of  the  landscape,  bold,  dark, 
untamed  as  when  they  owned  the  Nipnets  for  their  master. 

But  look!  as  we  now  sail  up  the  lake  in  this  harnessed 
leviathan  of  the  waters,  with  the  pent  up  fire  and  smoke 
in  its  seething  bowels,  and  emitting  from  its  screaming, 
groaning,  mouth  and  nostrils  the  exhaust  of  a  volcanic 
motor,  we  see  each  nook  and  glen,  each  hill  top,  cove  and 
promontory,  show  flecks  of  white  among  the  green  leaves 
of  the  forest.  Quinsigamond'  s  shores  have  been  repeopled, 


134  DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM. 

twice  inhabited  within  two  centuries,  and  in  the  interim, 
desolate  as  the  shoulders  of  Puebla. 

Before,  birch  wigwams  and  the  sun-browned  figures  of 
the  half  nude  savage,  whose  highest  art  was  to  shape  an 
arrow-head,  or  to  carve  a  hieroglyphic  on  the  white  skin 
of  his  birch  canoe.  This  time,  the  combined  results  of 
thirty  centuries  of  an  art-fostering  and  wisdom-gathering 
civilization  have  baptized  it  in  immortality.  He  of  two 
centuries  ago  draws  his  bow-string,  and  believes  that  were 
he  strong  enough,  he  might  transfix  the  round  moon  with 
his  arrow;  while  he,  the  white  man,  just  on  the  crown  of 
Wigwam  Hill,  just  over  the  school  encampment,  over  that 
new  star  of  promise,  levels  his  weapon  at  blue  ether  and 
leaping  into  fifty  thousand  years  of  space  along  a  single 
line  of  light,  seizes  a  planet  by  its  pencilled  beard  and 
demands  the  story  of  its  weight,  its  course,  its  composi- 
tion and  its  destiny. 

As  we  stand,  this  night  of  April  seventeen  hundred 
two,  upon  the  summit  of  the  hill  and  gaze  at  the  black 
pine  headlands,  the  bay  lands  and  bluffs  of  chestnut,  pale 
even  by  moonlight  when  contrasted  with  the  points  of 
pine ;  as  we  look  along  the  dazzling  brightness  of  the 
moonlit  waters,  passing  in  vision  the  narrows  on  the  south, 
two  miles  away,  passing  the  many  wooded  islands  that 
break  the  waters  into  sparkling,  light-emitting  patchesj 
and  in  imagination  rounding  our  canoes  into  the  great 
southern  basin,  we  see  a  line  of  twenty  birches  coming 
toward  us,  tossing  the  light  spray  in  white  curling  sheets, 


DOOM  OF  WASHAKIM.  135 

moving  steadily,  swiftly,  but  in  no  apparent  spirit  of  com- 
petition. 

On  come  the  canoes,  now  in  full  view,  now  out  of  sight 
behind  some  island,  and  now  like  some  monster  serpent 
wriggling  in  single  file  up  the  open  lake,  and  now — let  us 
step  back  into  the  deeper  shade,  for  just  below  us,  the 
canoes  are  making  land  and  from  the  foremost  steps — we 
have  seen  him  before — we  recognize  him — King  Philip  of 
Mount  Hope. 

A  fire  is  already  burning  on  the  plat  below  us  in  the 
midst  of  the  circle  of  white  birch  wigwams,  and  as  the 
canoes  are  carried  to  the  land  the  circle  of  warriors  is 
formed,  and  outside  that  the  squaws  and  half-grown 
children  gather  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  great  chieftain 
whose  influence  has  spread  from  lodge  to  lodge  and  from 
tribe  to  tribe  over  the  whole  north  country,  as  if  his 
daring  spirit  permeated  the  omnipresent  air,  or  rode 
upon  the  whispering,  tell-tale  winds,  while  in  the  centre 
of  the  group  —  mark  for  a  thousand  awe-struck,  or 
admiring  eyes  —  stands  the  commanding  figure  of  the 
Wampanoag. 

From  the  shadows  of  the  black  hemlocks  where  we 
stand  gazing  down  the  bald  precipice  and  the  steep  earth 
inclination  below  it  to  the  little  plain,  we  see  people  from 
all  the  tribes  that  rally  under  the  general  name  of  Nipnets. 
Even  half  a  score  of  Washakims  are  there,  and  although 
now  the  deadly  enemies  of  the  Quinsigamonds,  they  are 
for  this  night  as  safe  as  if  in  the  forest  of  the  Twin  L,akes. l 

1  The  two  lakes  of  Washakim — twelve  miles  north  of  Quin- 
sigamoud. 


136  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

With  slight,  preliminary  remarks,  recommending  unity 
of  purpose  and  action,  urging  the  wisdom  of  abandoning 
individual,  local,  and  tribal  fends  and  joining  hands  for 
the  furtherance  of  the  general  weal,  Philip  launches  out 
into  the  stormy  sea  of  his  great  subject  which  is  general 
war;  a  war  against  the  whites  as  a  race;  a  war  where  no 
quarter  is  to  be  asked  and  none  granted.  A  war  of  utter 
extermination. 

To  Philip  the  dialect  of  the  Xipnet  nation  was  an  alien 
tongue.  But  being  born  to  leadership  in  the  Xarragan- 
sett  country,  and  being  early  ambitious  of  a  fame  wider 
than  was  to  be  acquired  by  any  act  he  could  perform 
within  its  narrow  limits,  he  had  set  himself  while  yet  a 
boy  to  the  acquisition  of  all  the  spoken  tongues,  from  the 
St.  Lawrence  on  the  north  to  Long  Island  on  the  south, 
and  from  the  Penobscot  country  to  the  Algonquins  of  the 
Mohawk  Valley,  not  dreaming  in  what  particular 
direction  it  might  avail  him. 

To  show  the  Xipnets  the  insincerity  of  the  white  man 
in  his  often  repeated  professions  of  love  for  his  red 
brothers,  he  cited  the  occasion  when  the  planters  of 
Quinsigamond — 

To  faithfully  interpret  the  Xipnet  idiom — 

"  By  promises  never  to  be  fulfilled,  beyond  the  payment 
of  the  'twelve  pounds  sterling,'  paid  chiefly  in  red  cloth 
at  twice  its  market  value,  and  aided  by  all  the  arguments 
and  persuasive  eloquence  of  the  five  educated  and  baptized 
praying  Packachoags. — men  who  had  sold  themselves  to 
the  white  man  for  the  promise  of  fire-water  in  this  world 


DOOM  OF   WASHAKIM.  137 

and  glory  in  a  world  to  come;  who  had  been  taken  into 
the  pay  of  those  men  solely  with  a  view  to  induce  them 
to  persuade  their  brethren  to  relinguish  the  last  vestige 
of  a  title  to  the  soil;  and  who  had  been  taught  to  read 
word  pictures  of  a  life  to  come,  of  bliss  eternal  and 
ineffable  for  such  as  would  turn  their  backs  upon  the 
Great  Spirit,  the  soul  of  things,  and  bow  down  and  wor- 
ship before  their  Jehovah  and  his  Son,  the  man  Jesus;  and 
to  picture  never  ending  torments  in  a  sea  of  burning 
pitch  for  such  as  should  deny  Him  and  refused  to  be 
baptized,  or  should  put  stop  or  hindrance  upon  the 
desires  or  interests  of  these  self-styled  men  of  God. 

"By  false  promises  and  senseless  warnings,  by  misrepre- 
sentation and  deceit,  and  most  of  all  by  the  effect  of  that 
fire-water  which  makes  the  warrior  or  patriot  yielding  as 
a  squaw,  and  feeble  as  a  pappoose,  they  have  robbed 
you  of  your  lands  for  considerations  without  value;  they 
have  driven  the  game  from  your  forests  with  their  noisy 
dogs  and  guns;  have  dragged  your  rivers  with  their  nets 
until  the  few  trout  left  are  overfed  and  laugh  at  your 
feather  flies  and  hooks  of  bone.  They  have  pastured 
their  cows  where  you  have  planted  corn,  have  robbed  the 
trees  from  which  in  winter  you  have  dragged  your  honey, 
and  in  their  greed  to  possess  all  have  chopped  them  down 
and  forever  ruined  your  sources  of  supply.  They  have 
taken  )-our  warriors  upon  groundless  charges,  and  have 
either  murdered  them  by  legal  process  or  sold  them  into 
perpetual  bondage  to  some  far-off  country  beyond  the  sea. 
They  have  shot  down  your  brothers  in  mere  wantonness, 


138  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

debauched  your  squaws  until  your  polluted  stock,  as 
seen  in  rusty  hairs,  in  sky-lit  eyes,  and  jaws  that  in 
the  years  to  come  will  bristle  like  the  black  bear  of 
your  forests, — should  shame  you  out  of  tolerance. 
And  they  have  taught  your  children  to  despise  the  hope 
and  help  of  the  Great  Spirit,  the  shield  and  succor  of  your 
fathers.  And  did  they  not  hang  your  friend  and  brother, 
the  good  Matoona  of  Packachoag,1  without  the  shadow 
of  a  trial,  and  gave  him  only  scorn  when  he  offered  to 
refute  their  allegation  of  murder  by  proving  an  alibi,  and 
that  through  Indians  that  the  white  men  themselves  would 
trust? 

' '  They  have  spread  fire  and  ruin  in  every  corner  and 
lodge  of  the  Nipnet  nation  and  brought  mourning  into 
every  wigwam,  in  revenge  for  thoughtless,  unimportant 
acts  by  individual  members  of  your  tribes;  and  if  a  mur- 
der has  been  done  by  you,  who  shall  deny  that  it  was 
prompted  by  that  mad  spirit  of  their  earthen  jugs? 

' '  They  have  been  in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  while 
unsuspectingly  you  slept  without  a  watch,  and  from  this 
very  spot  where  the  Hill  Indians,  the  Quinsigamonds,  for 
generations  past  all  counting,  have  lived  in  peace  and 
quietness,  and  where  their  right  to  live,  to  hunt,  to  plant, 
to  fish  and  to  bury  their  dead  has  been  respected  and  held 
sacred,  even  by  the  warring  Mohawks,  and  the  reckless, 
roving  Penobscots,  they  have  been  here, — the  just  men,  the 
good,  the  praying  men  of  God,  and,  seen  only  by  the  stars, 

1Hung  in  Boston  after  a  shadow  of  trial. 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  139 

and  by  that  Great  Spirit  who  daily  chastens  you  for  sloth, 
for  inactivity,  for  tame  submission  to  unequal  foes, — have 
been  here,  and  by  stratagem  have  murdered  in  stealth  the 
glory  of  your  present  and  your  promise  for  the  future. 
Have  lured  away  and  murdered  the  son  of  Sagamore  John 
of  Packachoag — Wandee,  Chief  of  the  Quinsigamonds. 

' '  And  now  these  white  men  would  charge  this  homicide 
upon  your  brothers  of  Washakim,  as  they  charged  the 
killing  of  Shonto  upon  Wandee. 

' '  Was  ever  Indian  base  enough  for  such  duplicity  ?  Was 
ever  Indian  wicked  enough  to  do  two  murders  that  a 
thousand  might  ensue  ?  To  kill  two  chiefs  and  implicate 
two  tribes  in  murders,  that  the  two  halves  of  a  nation 
might  fall  upon  each  other  like  lynxes  fighting  to  the  death, 
while  he,  the  white  man,  left  alone,  unscathed,  might 
peaceably  appropriate  the  corn  lands  on  the  Quinnapoxit  ? 
Warriors  of  Quinsigamond  !  before  these  strangers,  chiefs 
of  tribes  throughout  the  Nipnet  nation,  do  I  conjure  you 
in  the  name  of  all  that  is  dear  in  the  land  of  your  fathers ; 
by  your  love  of  the  forests  where  you  learned  to  hunt ;  of 
the  lake  where  your  dead  sires  taught  you  to  paddle  and 
to  fish ;  by  your  love  of  home  and  children  ;  by  the  memory 
of  a  thousand  wrongs  inflicted  upon  you  by  this  alien, 
moon-faced,  spawn  of  treachery,  and  by  the  memory  of 
your  dead  chief  Wandee,  whose  ghost,  all  unappeased 
roams  earth-bound,  hapless  until  you,  side  by  side  with 
the  Washakims,  shall  avenge  his  death. 

' '  But  look !  Can  you  not  see  it !  Or  do  I  grow  giddy 
with  my  conjurations?  The  picture  I  would  draw  for 


I4O  DOOM   OP   WASHAKIM. 

you,  in  bloodless  figure  stares  me  in  the  face.  Wandee! 
Wandee! !  No,  no.  'Tisnothe.  'T is  but  the  imagina- 
tion holds  a  momentary  mastery.  And  yet,  still  here? 
Spirit,  shadow,  speak;  I  conjure  thee!  Say  if  thou  wert 
slain  in  battle,  or  called  down  by  a  white  man's  bullet 
from  an  ambush?  'Tis  Wandee.  There  against  the 
black  wall  of  the  mountain — 'tis  he — or  have  these  woes 
unstrung  the  brain  of  Philip  ? ' ' 

But  it  is  visible,  and  upon  that  narrow  ledge,  half  way 
up  the  sheer  ascent  of  rocks,  where  Wigwam  faces  Shrews- 
bury hills,  Wandee,  in  or  out  of  the  flesh,  paces  across, 
halts,  looks  down,  and  hurries  on  into  the  darkness  within 
easy  range  of  a  thousand  pairs  of  startled  eyes. 

The  old  squaw  of  the  second  sight,  the  Witch  of  Wig- 
wam, has  been  performing  antics  just  outside  the  circle 
of  the  fire-light.  Her  long  black  hair  hangs  loosely  over 
breast  and  shoulders,  and  her  dark,  snaky  eyes  sparkle 
in  the  frenzy  of  some  wild  hallucination.  Is  this  indeed 
a  real  form  that  she  alone  can  make  perceptible,  tangible 
for  the  moment,  as  the  lookers  on  ?  The  spirits  may  have 
responded  to  the  sorceress'  call.  To  some  witchery  of 
her  contriving.  It  may  be  —  such  things  are  said  to  hap- 
pen—  that  the  veritable  ghost  of  Wandee  draws  from  the 
sympathetic  unity  of  a  thousand  minds,  or  from  as  many 
bodies,  materiality  enough  to  invest  itself  for  a  moment 
with  the  semblance  of  mortality.  It  may  be — such  things 
are  the  subject  of  a  theory — that  in  all  their  minds  the 
recollections  of  their  chief  are  wrought  up  to  such  inten- 
sity that  it  needs  but  the  suggestion  of  a  visible  counter- 


DOOM   OP   WASHAKIM.  14! 

part  to  paint  upon  these  walls  of  stone  a  reflex  of  the 
ideal. 

Wandee  or  his  ghost  appears  to  them.  The  Quinsig- 
amonds  espouse  the  cause  of  the  red  king,  but  the  Hill 
Indians  and  the  Washakims  do  not  bury  the  hatchet 
although  they  quietly  part  company. 

We  observed  that  the  Hill  Indians  were  startled, — awed 
by  the  apparition. 

To  tne  Washakims  present  the  ghost  of  Wandee  had  a 
far  different  but  not  less  strange  meaning.  The  one  had 
seen  a  ghost,  and  one  but  a  translation. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   BIG  SCARE   COUNCIL. 

THE  morning  of  that  Thursday,  the  day  appointed  by 
the  white  man  for  taking  into  consideration  measures  for 
safety,  had  come.  The  hour  for  the  meeting  had  been 
fixed  at  two  o'clock  p.  M.  ,  and  at  one  o'clock  nearly  every 
man  in  the  plantation  was  at  the  Castle.  Captain  Wing 
was  absent,  having  received  at  the  hand  of  a  strolling 
Indian  who  had  passed  early  in  the  morning,  a  note  from 
an  acquaintance  in  Marlborough,  requesting  a  personal 
interview  on  the  trail  at  Shrewsbury  Hill,  at  eleven  o'clock 
that  morning,  when  the  writer  would  make  a  communica- 
tion of  importance  respecting  the  time  of  the  proposed 
flight  from  the  plantation,  if  such  flight  should  at  the 
meeting  of  the  planters  be  determined  upon. 

The  captain  had  said  to  Black  Jake  that  he  should 
return  as  early  as  one  o'clock.  One  o'clock  passed — two 
o'clock  failed  to  bring  him,  and  the  meeting  was  called  to 
order. 

Various  reports  were  made  of  matters  that  had  come 
to  the  ears  of  the  planters  on  the  borders  within  the  last 
few  hours,  chiefly  such  as  had  been  obtained  of  strolling 
Indians  and  hunters  of  the  Packachoag  tribe. 

Quinsigamond  Indians  were  still  in  bad  humor,  and  the 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  143 

Washakims  were  evidently  preparing  for  war.  The  Has- 
sinomissitts  were  sulky  and  reticent  and  made  no  effort  at 
all  to  disguise  their  vicious  inclinations  toward  the  in- 
habitants of  the  plantation.  The  Asnebumskits  and 
their  neighbors,  the  Tehassits,  held  nightly  pow-wows, 
but  as  none  but  sachems  and  chief  warriors  were  admit- 
ted, the  object  could  only  be  surmised. 

Some  great  chief  from  a  distance  had  been  arming  them, 
so  thought  the  praying  Indians,  who  were  among  the 
gleaners  of  news  and  who  really  knew  more  than  they 
cared  to  divulge,  being  divided  between  duty  to  their 
Christian  teachers,  and  affection  for  a  neighboring  and 
kindred  tribe.  "It  might,"  they  said,  "be  Philip,  or 
might  be  Brant,  the  great  Mohawk  chief,  who  had,  as 
rumor  gave  it,  been  visiting  among  the  lodges." 

A  Packachoag  came  to  the  Castle  at  this  juncture,  and 
requested  audience  with  the  pastor,  giving  as  a  reason 
that  he  was  a  praying  Indian,  and  as  such  his  first  duty 
was  to  his  religious  teacher. 

He  was  admitted,  and  declared  to  Parson  Meekman, 
that,  from  the  summit  of  Strawberry  Hill,1  looking  west- 
ward, he  had  seen  a  great  smoke,  about  twelve  miles  away, 
and  in  running  towards  it  he  saw  at  a  distance  a  party 
of  Indians  in  strange  wampum  and  war  paint. 

Secreting  himself  he  saw  from  the  bush  twenty  Indians 
pass  with  many  green  scalps  hanging  at  their  girdles,  and 
a  white  woman  and  child  as  prisoners. 

1  Leicester. 


144  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

As  near  as  he  could  divine  they  were  last  from  Quaboag. 
The  presumption  was  based  upon  the  fact  that  there  had 
been  a  recent  massacre,  as  was  evident  from  the  green 
scalps,  that  being  strong  and  fresh,  they  could  have  come 
but  little  distance ;  that  there  was  no  white  settlement 
between  Quinsigamond  and  Chicopee  except  Quaboag 
(Brookfield) ,  and  near  at  hand  in  the  direction  of  Quaboag 
he  had  seen  the  great  smoke. 

On  his  way  home  this  Indian  had  met  a  Wachusett, 
who  was  following  a  moose  track,  and  was  told  by  him 
that  on  the  night  before,  the  Washakims  had  killed  two 
white  men  at  Lancaster  and  had  attempted  to  fire  the 
town,  but  were  discovered  and  repulsed. 

The  question  now  before  the  meeting  was  fight  or 
flight. 

It  needed  no  further  evidence  of  malicious  purpose  on 
the  part  of  the  savages,  but  to  what  extent  it  had  pro- 
ceeded, or  how  widely  it  was  entertained,  was  yet  a 
mystery. 

Sergent  and  the  two  Rices,  with  Curtis  and  half  a  dozen 
others,  argued  that  there  was  really  no  occasion  for 
alarm;  that  to  put,  as  far  as  possible,  the  plantation  in 
the  best  attitude  of  defense,  to  post  some  few  of  the  best 
hunters  for  pickets,  and  to  use  the  praying  Indians  as 
scouts  was  all  that  was  necessary.  In  case  of  attack,  the 
Castle,  they  said,  was  easily  accessible  to  the  planters  and 
their  families,  seasonable  warning  of  the  approach  of 
hostile  Indians  in  threatening  numbers  would  be  given 
by  the  trusty  Packachoag  scouts,  and  once  within  the 


DOOM   OP   WASHAKIM.  145 

Castle  walls  the  position  was  impregnable.  There  would 
be  no  danger  of  a  long  siege.  Indians  are  too  impatient 
to  maintain  one  for  any  length  of  time.  They  soon  tire. 

The  parson,  whose  proficiency  at  exhortation  and  prayer 
was  only  exceeded  by  his  propensity  for  fighting,  a  dispo- 
sition held  in  laudable  abeyance  by  his  sense  of  duty  and 
propriety  as  a  Christain  minister,  addressed  the  moderator 
according  to  his  usual  method  with  the  prelude  of  a  text: 

"  '  I  came  not  to  bring  peace  but  a  sword. '  Hath 
not  the  lyord  our  God  said,  'I  will  scatter  them  into 
corners.  I  will  make  the  remembrance  of  them  to  cease 
from  among  men.  For  their  vine  is  the  vine  of  Sodom, 
and  their  rock  is  not  as  our  rock,  I  will  make  their  feet 
to  slide  in  due  time.'  What  promise,  my  dear  hearers, 
could  be  stronger  ?  or  what  imprecation  could  be  deeper  ? 
'  I  will  whet  my  glittering  sword.  Rejoice,  oh  my  peo- 
ple, for  I  will  avenge  the  blood  of  my  servants,  saith  the 
Lord.'  Oh,  my  dear  people;  you  who  are  counted  among 
the  elect,  having  been  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  I/amb, 
do  you  not  see  in  this  the  promise  of  Divine  aid  ?  '  I 
will  whet  my  glittering  sword.'  That  means  war,  my 
hearers.  And  is  it  not  a  well  phrased  and  a  well  timed 
incentive  to  you  to  gird  on  the  armor  of  righteous- 
ness and  to  cleave  your  way  through  this  Sodom  of 
heathenism  as  the  duly  appointed  executors  of  the  wrath 
of  God?" 

And  now,  by  copious  citations  of  corresponding  emer- 
gencies, where  the  chosen  people  of  God  had  laid  waste 
the  substance  of  idolaters  and  annihilated  the  minions  of 


146  DOOM   OP   WASHAKIM. 

darkness,  he  made  it  perfectly  obvious  that  it  was  only 
necessary  to  march  around  this  Jericho  of  wickedness, 
blowing  upon  the  ram's  horn  of  faith,  and  the  walls  of 
this  city  of  abominations  would  be  leveled  with  the 
dust. 

But  although  that  method  of  procedure  might  have 
been  in  an  eminent  degree  adapted  to  the  condition  and 
purposes  of  the  Jews,  three  thousand  years  ago,  before 
nature  had  revised  her  code,  it  was  difficult  to  make  its 
present  feasibility  apparent  to  the  more  practical  mind  of 
the  Parish  of  Quinsigamond. 

Comfort  Hart,  of  Packachoag,  remarked  that  if  the 
parson's  ram's  horn  was  a  mere  figure  of  speech,  intended 
to  suggest  the  use  of  an  iron  mortar,  with  gunpowder  for 
a  blast,  he  could  quite  agree  with  him,  provided  they 
could  get  the  mortar. 

He  had  always  opposed  measures  intended  to  injure  or 
defraud  the  original  owners  of  the  soil,  but  affairs  assume 
a  new  aspect  when  the  Indians  become  the  aggressors  and 
resort  to  force.  "It's  a  wild  dance  we  ha'  led  the 
heathen,  an'  it 's  nae  much  wonder  they  should  '  kick  ' 
like  Jeshurun  of  old.  In  me  heart  I  can  nae  much  bleem 
them.  But  if  the  fault  be  theirs,  or  if  the  fault  be  ours, 
i'  the  commencement,  it  is  nae  matter  now.  They  ha' 
dug  up  the  hatchet,  an'  we  ha'  nae  choice  left  but  to  gie 
them  blaw  for  blaw. ' ' 

Until  to-day  the  Scotchman  had  been  as  non-combative  as 
the  Quaker  Danson,  and  this  declaration  of  a  readiness 
to  resist,  and  even  to  act  on  the  offensive,  was  pleasing  to 


DOOM   OP   WASHAKIM.  147 

the  planters,  for  Comfort  was  a  sturdy  man  and  well 
known  as  a  bold  one. 

Jim  Pyke  said  without  rising,  "  If  the  Lord  has  really 
promised  all  the  parson  tells  for  (and  the  parson  ought 
to  know  if  he's  ter  be  trusted),  I  guess  it'll  be  safest  ter 
leave  him  ter  finish  up  the  job.  He  cuts  a  bigger  swath 
than  we  ken." 

No  one  knew  just  what  to  make  out  of  Jim  Pyke;  none 
could  fix  his  precise  mental  status;  whether  he  was  a 
wag,  a  wit,  or  a  blunderhead,  no  one  felt  quite  certain. 

Captain  Henchman  said:  "  In  my  opinion  there  is  but 
one  proper  course  to  pursue;  we  must  remove  the  women 
and  children  at  once  to  Marlborough,  where  they  will  be 
safe  and  cared  for,  and  then  we  may  feel  at  least  more 
assured,  if  not  quite  so  desperate  when  compelled  to 
assume  the  defensive,  for  we  shall  have  no  non-combatants 
to  look  after,  and  if  we  must  retreat  we  shall  then  be  able 
to  do  better  execution  upon  the  savages." 

And  the  deacon  agreed  with  him.  It  seemed  the  pre- 
vailing opinion  that  this  course  was  the  wisest  to  adopt, 
although  Sergent  and  Gershom  Rice  vigorously  opposed  it 
as  a  virtual  abandonment  of  the  soil. 

"To  send  our  families  away,"  said  Gershom,  "is  to 
show  the  enemy  at  once  our  weakness  and  to  assure  them 
of  our  distrust  of  the  resources  at  command.  We  need 
only  be  watchful  and  ready.  If  occasion  calls  for  it  we 
may  place  our  women  and  children  in  the  stockade,  while 
both  from  the  Castle  and  the  Castle  Tavern  we  may  ply 
tham  critters  with  bullets  to  their  hearts'  content.  But 


148  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

I'm  only  one;  majority  rules  in  Ameriky.  If  the  majority 
says  go,  I  'm  with  ye.  But  you  know  the  Tavern  is  fully 
commanded  by  the  Castle,  and  the  open  fields  about  will 
give  us  a  mighty  good  whack  at  'em.  Tham  winders  and 
loopholes  wan't  made  for  nothin'.  Individerwally  I  op- 
pose desertion  or  any  manner  of  retreat. ' ' 

Digory  Sergent  was  not  an  orator  like  Gershom.  His 
vocabulary  usually  exhausted  itself  in  about  three  syl- 
lables. 

"  I  stick!  "  exclaimed  he,  as  he  brought  the  butt  of  his 
old  flint-lock  down  upon  the  plank  floor  with  a  crash  that 
would  have  ruined  it,  but  for  the  straps  of  horseshoe  iron 
the  blacksmith  had  riveted  to  it  to  make  it  good  for  club- 
bing in  case  the  ammunition  should  happen  to  give  out 
in  some  unpleasantness  with  ugly  Indians. 

It  was  now  three  o'clock  by  the  whittled  nicks  in  the 
window  sill  sun-dial,  and  Captain  Wing's  continued  ab- 
sence had  been  several  times  adverted  to,  and  was  begin- 
ning to  excite  uneasiness,  not  to  say  apprehension. 

It  was  almost,  if  not  quite  indispensable  to  know  his 
sense  of  the  matter  in  question.  It  had  been  not  unfre- 
quently  noticed  that  his  opinion,  particularly  in  emer- 
gencies, had  been  equal  to  turning  anything  like  an 
approximate  to  an  equal  balance  in  the  scales  of  planta- 
tion policy. 

The  captain,  in  society  or  in  an  informal  gathering,  was 
free  and  easy  of  speech,  without  seeming  to  be  loquacious; 
but  in  public,  where  what  he  said  might  prove  of  greater 
consequence,  his  reserve  was  an  approach  to  reticence. 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  149 

His  speech  was  sharp  and  concise;  his  sentences  abbre- 
viated snatches;  while  in  action  he  was  quick,  resolute, 
impetuous  and  persistent.  He  was  of  such  men  as  make 
history.  Wordy  men  shape  it,  manipulate  it;  minds 
glowing  with  the  imaginative,  if  also  analytical  and  logical, 
write  it. 

In  that  plantation  of  ninety  adults,  to  the  most  of  them 
the  captain  was  a  bell-wether.  But  there  were  men  like 
the  two  Henchmans,  Sergent,  Fisk,  Payne,  and  the  two 
Rices,  to  say  nothing  of  the  parson,  who  were  a  law  unto 
themselves;  who  heard  him  respectfully,  weighed  his  words 
profoundly,  and  then  formed  their  own  conclusions.  They 
were  too  self-reliant  to  acknowledge  leadership  except 
when,  for  unity  of  action,  they  delegated  powers.  But 
even  these  men  felt  the  depressing  sense  of  vacancy  in 
their  deliberations  as  a  consequence  of  the  absence  of  this 
stripling,  scarcely  out  of  his  teens. 

Either  of  them  would  have  been  slow  to  admit  as  much, 
even  to  himself,  but  the  fact  was  there. 

But  something  has  happened.  Black  Jake  pokes  his 
head  into  the  assembly  room.  Into  the  Castle.  Black 
Jake  the  serving  man. 

"Oh,  my  Lord!  My  Lord!  Gemmans,  Cap'n  John's 
done  gone  for  sure.  Dem  red  debbils  got  Cap'n  John  for 
sartin!  Oh,  Deacon,  Deacon!  We  mus'  hab  a  resurrec- 
tion! 'T  won't  do  fer  ter  let  Cap'n  John  go  fer  toast  ter  dat 
'bomination  er  red  wickedness.  Oh,  Deacon,  call  on  de 
Lord  fer  ter  help  us  right  away.  'T  won't  be  worf  a  fo- 


150  DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM. 

pence  ha-penny  gin  ter  morrer.  Do  coax  de  Lord,  Deacon, 
fer  ter  gib  us  a  lift ! ' ' 

Jake  had  scarcely  finished  his  full-mouthed  ejaculation 
before  the  Castle  was  emptied  of  people,  and  his  plea  for 
a  petition  went  by  unheeded. 

Even  the  parson  shouted  as  he  hurried  out,  ' '  prayer 
is  good  in  its  way,  my  brethren,  but  there's  a  time  for  all 
things!" 

Each  man  was  examining  his  flint  and  pan,  as  with 
scurrying  footsteps  he  made  his  exit  from  the  Castle. 

Even  the  poor,  meek,  non-combative  Quaker  Danson, 
fell  back  upon  the  natural  man  and  seized  the  sword  of 
justice  that  had  hung  suspended  over  the  Judge's  bench 
since  the  memorable  first  court  trial. 

4 '  What  else  would  thee  have  me  to  do  ?  Thee  sees  it 
is  for  the  women  and  children  this  time,  my  darling,  and 
the  spirit  of  my  fathers  is  upon  me,"  he  whispered  to  his 
wife,  who  questioned  his  carnal-mindedness  as  he  crossed 
the  threshold. 

Outside  the  stockade,  and  in  front  of  the  Tavern,  stood 
Black  Pompey,  alone,  unattended,  and  from  his  bleeding 
mouth  dangled  a  broken  rein. 

Pompey  was  reeking  with  sweat  and  begrimed  with 
dust.  His  saddle  was  turned  until  the  girth  buckles 
were  just  back  of  the  horse's  withers;  there  was  a  deep 
gash  in  his  neck,  as  if  plowed  by  a  glancing  arrow,  and 
as  he  stood  smoking  and  panting,  his  red  nostrils  dis- 
tended to  their  utmost  and  dripping  with  blood  as  a 
consequence  of  over-exertion;  stamping  and  pawing,  and 


DOOM  OF  WASHAKIM.  151 

alternately  lifting  his  head  and  staring  up  the  north 
bridle-path  down  which  he  had  come,  or  by  an  askant 
look  rolling  into  sight  the  pearly  white  of  his  restless 
eyes,  he  seemed  the  impersonation  of  rage. 

A  well-bred  horse  in  a  fervor  of  excitement  is  a  thing 
to  be  looked  at,  to  be  studied.  There  is  purpose  in  his 
every  movement,  and  in  every  glance  of  his  eyes  a  mean- 
ing. He  has  grander  phases  of  aspect  than  the  casual 
observer — he  who  is  incapable  of  sympathizing  with  other 
inferior  brutes — might  suspect. 

But  what  could  have  happened  to  Captain  John? 
Pompey  could  not  have  thrown  him  if  he  would,  and  he 
would  not  if  he  could,  for  when  a  rider  sets  his  favorite 
horse  one  spirit  dominates,  and  the  passive  other  merges 
its  identity  into  it.  The  horse  had  not  fallen,  or  the 
knees  would  show  discoloration,  if  not  abrasion.  The 
rider  could  not  have  been  tossed  in  a  stumble,  for  then  he 
would  have  gone  headlong  and  not  have  displaced  the 
saddle.  And  what  is  that  blood  in  the  mouth  ?  and  the 
cut  lip  at  the  bit  hold?  The  curb  has  been  terribly 
jerked,  and  sideways,  too.  The  gag  has  lacerated  the 
tongue,  but  the  chin  shows  no  abrasion  by  the  chain.  It 
was  done  by  a  man  on  the  ground.  The  rider  was 
wrenched  off  his  horse  and  threw  his  weight  into  one  stirrup 
in  his  act  of  resistance.  That  turned  the  saddle.  He  was 
not  wounded,  or  saddle  or  housing  would  be  stained 
with  blood.  Who  has  attacked  him  ?  Not  the  Hill 
Indians.  They  worshipped  him.  Was  it  the  Washa- 
kims  ?  They  know  absolutely  nothing  about  horses,  and 


152  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

none  but  one  familiar  with  them  would  have  caught  the 
dangling  curb-rein,  and  the  bar  line  wouldn't  have  held 
the  startled  beast  a  second.  He  would  have  torn  the 
head-stall  into  tatters,  and  whoever  did  this  thing  knew  it. 

However  it  might  have  happened,  Captain  John  was 
gone,  and  the  men  looked  into  each  other's  faces  question- 
ingly,  but  said  nothing.  There  was  neither  interrogation 
nor  remark.  The  loss  was  too  great,  it  was  overpowering. 
Even  those  robust,  headstrong,  self-reliant  men,  who  felt 
assured  they  were  alone  equal  to  any  emergency  incident 
to  pioneer  life;  men  who  believed  their  own  judgment 
as  sufficient  counsel  in  all  things,  looked  watery  about 
the  eyes  and  felt  an  inexplicable  weakness  come  over 
them.  Felt  as  we  do  when  some  mortal  prop, — a  .wife,  a 
brother,  a  sister  or  a  son  fall  out  by  the  way. 

The  right  arm  of  the  plantation  had  been  lopped  off; 
and  what  was  more  than  numbers,  more  than  courage 
and  hardihood,  more  than  wisdom  even,  the  genius  of  the 
hamlet  had  gone  out  from  among  them. 

Jim  Pyke  said:  "  Tham  critters  have  girdled  the  tree." 

There  will  be  wet  eyes  at  the  Castle  Tavern  to-night — 
wet  eyes  and  an  aching  heart  at  Digory  Sergent's  house, 
and  all  the  plantation  will  bow  its  head  in  mourning,  but 
a  thousand  souls  shall  be  wafted  to  the  Great  Spirit  on  a 
cloud  of  fire  and  smoke  for  this  untimely  taking  off. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  RED  MEN'S   COUNCIL. 

WHATEVER  matters  of  importance  occurred  at  the 
plantation  were  invariably  known  within  an  hour  at 
Wigwam  Hill,  for  however  much  the  doctrine  of  Chris- 
tianity might  tend  to  restrain  the  restless  spirit  and  wild 
habits  of  the  savages,  the  love  of  home,  which  with  them 
meant  tribe,  was  sure  to  predominate,  and  in  this  con- 
nection it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  the  Hill  Indians  and 
the  Packachoags  were  of  common  stock;  the  Hill  Indians 
being  an  offshoot  from  the  Packachoags. 

The  fidelity  of  the  praying  Indians,  who  were  ordin- 
arily reliable  and  always  ready  to  hazard  their  lives  even, 
if  need  be,  for  the  white  men  under  whose  teachings  they 
had  been  converted,  had  one  vulnerable  point  which  not 
even  the  bonds  of  mutual  faith  could  cover.  They  would 
conspire  with  you  to  go  even  to  the  most  cruel  extremities 
in  matters  relating  to  Indians  of  any  particular  tribe, 
except  the  one  to  which  they  were  born,  for  patriotism 
with  them  did  not  extend  to  the  nationality  of  which  their 
tribe  was  a  part,  as  the  tribal  compact  was  solely  for 
purposes  of  defense  against  the  warlike  Mohawks,  or  the 
short-legged,  roaming  Canadian  freebooters,  but  the 
moment  a  hand  was  raised  to  do  violence  against  their 


154  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

natal  lodge  there  was  not  Gospel  enough  between  Genesis 
and  Revelation  to  restrain  them. 

Of  the  Hill  Indians,  the  whites  had  made  in  all  some 
two  or  three  doubtful  converts  to  Christianity.  I  say  doubt- 
ful because,  unlike  the  praying  Packachoags,  they  were 
at  best  but  lukewarm,  and  never  became  like  them,  zeal- 
ous workers.  But  all  who  professed  the  faith  were  allowed 
to  come  and  go  at  pleasure,  in  field  or  forest,  in  house  or 
wigwam,  and  being  constantly  on  the  move,  for  they  were 
veritable  tramps — as  espousing  the  cause  of  Christ  inva- 
riably upset  all  habits  of  self-maintenance — nothing  es- 
caped their  observation. 

The  Wigwam  Hill  converts,  therefore,  knew  every  move, 
and  being  the  most  sly  and  consummate  eavesdroppers, 
knew  almost  every  secret  of  their  indulgent  neighbors, 
the  white  men.  They  knew  of  the  "  big  scare  council," 
as  they  termed  it,  and  that  very  day  at  sunset  it  was 
fully  reported  at  the  Hill.  They  knew  also  of  the  rider- 
less horse. 

The  little  tribe  heard  of  the  first  in  silence,  and  of  the 
last  with  expressions  of  unmixed  sorrow,  for  Captain 
John  had  been  much  with  them,  and  always  as  one  of 
them,  except  as  they  instinctively  paid  deference  to  his 
obvious  superiority,  the  effect  of  his  life  surroundings, 
civilization  and  education,  added  to  a  strong  will  and  an 
evident  honesty  of  purpose. 

Upon  the  matter  first  spoken  of  they  were  silent  because, 
since  the  night  of  the  last  visit  of  the  Great  Chief  of 
Mount  Hope,  partial  developments,  enlisting  hope,  fear, 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  155 

and  superstition  to  a  nearly  equal  degree,  were  accom- 
panied by  intimations  of  a  plot,  so  startling,  that  if  no 
hitch  occurred  in  the  denouement  of  a  counter,  King 
Philip  would  himself  be  proved  a  liar. 

The  Wigwam  Hill  Indians  had  already  struck  a  trail, 
and  five  of  the  boldest,  shrewdest,  fleetest  of  them  had 
been  out  a  day,  charged  to  their  own  discretion,  no  one 
knew  whither. 

Since  we  last  saw  these  Indians  meditating  at  least  upon 
a  compact  with  the  Wampanoag,  the  old  sorceress  had 
been  busy,  if  to  be  so  absorbed  with  inner  sense  as  to 
make  the  mind  utterly  oblivious  to  all  things  outward  is 
to  be  busy.  Had  been  so  busy  with  brews,  invocations, 
incantations  and  conjurings,  that  some  of  the  more  im- 
pressionable of  the  warriors  verily  believed  they  had  seen 
appear  at  her  enjoinment,  life-like  figures  drawn  in  light 
upon  the  black  escarpment  of  the  hill  at  midnight. 

There  were  impersonations  and  indications  that  upset 
all  recent  theories  and  conjectures,  beside  involving  one 
great  name  in  gross  deception  for  the  furtherance  of  a 
scheme.  Indians  have  been  accredited  or  discredited 
with  believing  that  the  God  of  Nature  is  the  same  yes- 
terday, to-day  and  to-morrow,  and  that  occurrences  which 
were  possible  in  the  remote  past  may  not  be  impossible 
to-day.  They  lack  sound  orthodox  education.  But  how- 
ever that  may  be,  certain  it  was  that  Wigwam  Hill  was 
all  astir  with  other  matters  than  the  league,  the  object  of 
which  was  annihilation.  They  were  even  in  humor  to 
deprecate  the  taking  off  of  Captain  Wing  for  other  con- 


156  DOOM  OF  WASHAKIM. 

siderations  than  their  own  regard  for  the  man,  for  as  the 
breach  widened  between  them  and  Philip,  through  suspicion 
of  misrepresentation,  bordering  upon  proof,  they  began  to 
retrograde  toward  their  first  love. 

The  whites  had  been  their  nearest  neighbors  and  they 
had  always  lived  in  peace  with  them;  indeed  they  had 
repeatedly  been  the  recipients  of  favors  at  their  hands, 
and  were  many  times  beholden  to  them  for  kind  offices. 
To  be  sure  their  chief  had  been  tried  in  their  courts  for 
murder,  but  even  after  confession  he  had  been  acquitted, 
and  that  was  evidence  at  least  of  standing  by  justice. 

The  Hill  Indians  had  suspected  the  whites,  either  of 
direct  murder  upon  the  person  of  their  chief  or  of  com- 
plicity in  effecting  his  death;  but  subsequent  developments 
seemed  to  beggar  the  assumption,  and  Wandee,  their  oracle 
in  life  and  precious  almost  to  idolization  in  memory,  had 
while  living  counselled  them  to  be  brothers  with  the 
whites. 

Sagamore  John,  the  Hoorawannonit  of  Packachoag1 
the  sire  of  Wandee  by  a  Quinsigamond  squaw,  now  an 
old  man  and  accredited  with  wisdom,  had  paid  them  a 
visit  at  the  Hill  where  he  was  well  received,  notwith- 
standing he  had  used  his  utmost  endeavors — by  well-con- 
sidered and  plausible  arguments,  aided  by  that  verbally 
pictorial  eloquence  which  facilitates  apprehension  by  pre- 
senting ideas  arrayed  in  metaphor  and  allegory — to  dis- 
suade the  Nipnets  from  joining  issues  with  Philip  or  even 

1The  chief's  tribal  name. 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  157 

seriously  considering  the  subject  of  offensive  alliance,  and 
had  with  his  own  little  tribe  remained  firmly  aloof,  even 
refusing  to  promise  neutrality  in  the  event  of  war. 

His  visit  was  in  the  midst  of  the  awakening  of  the  tribe 
to  the  machinations  of  the  king,  through  the  strange 
intimations,  weird,  half  appreciable  conjurings  and  shad- 
owy forecasts  of  that  crazy  occultist,  the  squaw  sorceress. 

Red  John  found  the  Indians  in  the  deepest  mourning, 
as  Indians  mourn, — moody,  solitary,  taciturn.  No  two 
Indians  could  be  seen  together.  Not  even  a  squaw 
or  pappoose  dared  intrude  upon  their  silent  loneliness. 
Not  an  Indian  left  the  Hill  for  any  purpose,  not  even  for 
food,  of  which  they  were  sorely  in  need. 

To  stroll  about,  you  might  have  seen  an  Indian  here 
and  there,  seated  on  a  rotting  log,  seated  on  a  boulder, 
or  a  crag,  or  leaning  against  a  tree,  looking  down  into 
the  lake  with  his  eyes,  into  the  mist  of  futurity  with  his 
mind.  To  them  it  was  an  utter  lapse  between  time  past 
and  time  to  come. 

The  Quinsigamonds  had  lost  a  leader  and  John  of 
Packachoag  an  only  son.  To  the  one  was  left  a  vacancy 
that  nature  refused  to  span;  an  indefinite  idea  of  future 
existence,  an  idea  based  upon  no  revelation,  and  referable 
to  no  authority,  other  than  the  vague  inheritance  of  a 
dogma,  the  child  of  irresponsibility,  but  yet  of  hope  at 
least  the  phantom, — for  had  not  their  sires  declared  that 
they  themselves  had  held  communion  with  the  long  since 
dead.  And  could  not  the  old  squaw  conjure  up  at  will 
the  transient,  flitting,  semi-transparent  mist  of  something 


158  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

that  bore  semblance  to  the  human  form  and  facial  feature  ? 
and  did  she  not,  at  least  in  seeming,  hold  animated 
converse  with  the  shadow  of  her  conj  uring  ? 

But  to  John  of  Packachoag  a  life  to  come  was  as  cer- 
tain as  judgment;  judgment  as  a  resurrection;  resurrection 
as  the  word  of  God.  And  to  him  the  interim  was  simple 
sleep;  and  what  to  him  or  they  that  the  sleep  should  last 
till  Gabriel's  trumpet  sounded?  It  was  folding  of  the 
hands  at  twilight,  and  wakening  with  the  dawn.  And 
so  he  argued  with  the  Hill  Indians  that  night  in  council, 
and  his  kindly  sympathy,  more  earnest  from  the  fact  of 
mutual  loss,  added  to  his  hopeful  word  pictures  of  a  life 
to  come  and  the  beatific  conditions  of  the  hereafter, 
broke  the  spell  and  roused  them  from  the  paralytic  mood 
that  had  oppressed  both  mind  and  body. 

Invested  with  words  intelligible  to  us,  this  was  the  ex- 
pression of  Hoorawannonit  the  Sagamore  of  Packachoag, 
given  through  broken,  verbal,  impassioned  utterance,  gar- 
nished by  metaphor  and  simile  and  superinforced  by 
profuse  gesticulation. 

"He  is  not  dead  but  sleepeth.  Our  L,ord  and  Master, 
the  man  Jesus,  gave  his  life  that  through  his  death  atone- 
ment might  come  for  an  entailed  sin,  and  for  the  manifold 
sins  of  succeeding  generations,  and  that  through  that 
atonement  we  might  have  everlasting  life,  since,  when 
those  whom  we  say  die,  die  only  in  this  our  visible  body, 
while  the  spirit,  the  real  essence,  and  although  unseen 
the  counterpart  of  that  which  we  lay  down,  and  itself  as  real 
a  body,  merely  sleeps.  As  the  tired  hunter  lies  down  and 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  159 

loses  himself  to  things  about  him  until  strength  returns 
to  him  through  rest,  so  we  shall,  so  Wandee  did,  lie  down 
for  a  season  of  rest,  and  when  that  rest  shall  be  complete, 
and  his  strength  restored,  he  shall  awaken  to  a  new  life, 
with  hands  that  palsy  not  with  age,  and  with  feet  that 
cannot  tire;  for  what  is  death  but  a  lengthy  sleep?  and 
what  is  the  grave  but  rest  ?' ' 

While  listening  to  the  comforting  promises  of  Sagamore 
John,  and  revolving  in  mind  the  not  very  discordant  voice- 
less assurances  of  the  old  squaw  in  her  ghostly  machina- 
tions, the  savage  mind  resolved  the  discrepancy  of  time 
into  unity,  by  attributing  to  the  sagamore  an  excusable 
miscalculation,  and  that  partially  settled  in  favor  of  a 
like  ultimate  result,  the  tribe  awoke  from  its  solemn  stupor, 
and  as  the  embers  of  the  council  fire  were  smouldering  in 
their  ashes,  Sagamore  John  placed  the  little  tribe  under 
benediction  and  passed  down  and  out  into  the  night  with 
his  moccasins  pointing  toward  Packachoag. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

ANXIETY  AND   INDECISION  AMONG  THE   PLANTERS. 

ON  the  Thursday  following  the  ' '  big  scare  council ' ' 
the  whites  began  to  collect  early  in  the  day,  for,  beyond 
chopping  wood  enough  to  last  from  day  to  day,  they  were 
in  no  mood  to  labor. 

Digory  Sergent  had  set  his  foot  down  firmly  that  he 
would  not  budge,  war  or  no  war,  and  Mrs.  Sergent  as 
flatly  refused  to  seek  safety  in  flight  and  leave  her  husband 
behind,  while  the  children,  including  Martha  (who,  by 
the  way,  was  step-daughter  to  the  present  Mrs.  Sergent), 
had  declared  that  to  leave  both  father  and  mother  in  the 
woods  with  hostile  Indians  lurking  about,  was  greater 
wickedness  than  they  were  capable  of. 

But  Digory  was  the  first  man  to  put  in  an  appearance 
that  morning.  He  would  not  go,  but  of  course  he  must 
attend  the  meeting,  for  a  meeting  of  the  planters  was  al- 
most as  important  as  a  town  meeting,  and  a  town  meeting, 
where  a  freeholder  might  exercise  his  right  of  suffrage 
even  in  general  government  matters,  was  too  new  a 
wrinkle  in  the  body  politic  to  be  relegated  to  neglect. 

The  Rices,  Hart,  and  Curtis  were  soon  at  hand,  and 
before  ten  o'clock  in  the  day  every  adult  male  inhabitant, 
as  well  as  most  of  the  women,  were  assembled  at  the 
Castle  anxiously  awaiting  the  result  of  the  conference. 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  l6l 

At  ten  o'clock  the  meeting  was  called  to  order,  and 
after  a  few  remarks  from  the  moderator,  Deacon  Hench- 
man, relative  to  the  present  emergency,  in  the  course  of 
which  he  feelingly  alluded  to  the  Providential  chastise- 
ment of  the  community  in  the  taking  off  of  Captain  Wing, 
and  duly  admonished  the  believers  to  foster  a  spirit  of 
resignation  and  trust  in  Him  who  ' '  tempers  the  wind  to 
the  shorn  lamb,"  he  proceeded  to  charge,  so  far  as  his 
personal  opinion  might  go,  the  Washakims  with  the  recent 
atrocity  which  had  placed  in  mourning  every  family  in 
the  plantation  of  Quinsigamond. 

The  deacon  also  called  to  mind  numerous  acts  of  treach- 
ery on  the  part  of  the  Washakims,  and  among  other 
things  referred  to  the  continued  absence  of  Archer  since 
the  mournful  event,  and  confessed  to  an  impressive  sur- 
mise that  upon  that  day  a  double  murder  had  been  per- 
petrated. 

He  repeated  the  purport  of  various  vague  rumors  of  an 
intended  uprising  of  all  the  savages  and  mentioned  the 
circumstances  of  several  recent  murders  which  had  oc- 
curred at  about  the  same  time,  and  in  widely  separated 
communities,  as  indications  of  concerted  action  intended  to 
arouse  the  whites  to  the  commission  of  some  overt  act  which 
might  be  used  as  a  pretext  for  a  general  massacre  in 
retaliation. 

He  warmly  deprecated  the  necessity  for  abandoning  the 
plantation,  leaving  their  homes  and  sacrificing  the  results 
of  toil,  patience  and  privation. 

He    remarked    that   many    whose    life    savings    were 


162  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

here  invested  must  necessarily  become  bankrupt  by 
flight,  for  even  should  they  ever  find  it  practicable  to 
return,  it  would  be  to  wasted  clearings,  and  to  cellars 
filled  with  the  ashes  of  their  former  dwellings;  for  it  was 
well  known  in  the  history  of  Indian  warfare  that  the 
savages  regarded  every  form  of  structural  improvement 
in  the  light  of  an  encumbrance;  a  foolish  luxury,  fit  only 
for  the  enjoyment  of  laboring,  civilized  effeminacy,  and 
beneath  the  dignity  of  the  free-born  sons  of  earth,  who 
gained  a  subsistence  without  toil,  and  who  reaped  where 
they  had  not  sown. 

As  the  climax  of  all  savage  villainy,  the  very  acme  of 
heathenish  deviltry,  the  deacon  alluded  to  the  massacre 
and  burning  of  the  peaceable  settlement  at  Quaboag,  which 
an  Indian  runner  had  confirmed  and  reported  in  detail 
on  the  previous  day. 

"And  now"  said  the  deacon,  ''in  justice  and  mercy 
to  those  whom  a  kind  Providence  has  intrusted  to  our 
tender  care  and  keeping,  such  as  are  allied  to  us  by  the 
bonds  of  love  and  blood  relationship,  by  the  necessity  of 
reliance  and  the  duty  of  protection,  there  seems  to  be 
but  one  course  to  pursue.  To  remove,  such  as  cannot  bear 
arms,  at  once  to  Marlborough  there  to  await  our  coming, 
if  driven  by  superior  force  to  abandon  the  plantation,  or 
until  the  threatening  aspect  of  affairs  has  subsided." 

The  deacon's  remarks  were  folio  wed  in  a  similar  strain 
by  Prentice,  Payne,  Curtis  and  others,  and  when  the  sense 
of  the  meeting  was  called  for,  there  was  hardly  a  dissent- 
ing voice.  Even  old  Digory  said:  "  The  deacon's  words 


DOOM  OF  WASHAKIM.  163 

are  good  and  sensible.  I  don't  think  myself  that  this 
'ere  's  any  place  for  women  folks." 

But  at  least  one  woman  in  that  assembly  demurred. 

"  If  Mr.  Sergent  stays  I  shall  stay.  He  can  do  as  he 
pleases. ' ' 

Jim  Pyke's  wife  also  took  exceptions  to  the  ruling. 
She  ' '  would  not  step  over  into  the  promised  land  to  drink 
the  milk  and  honey  of  safety  while  Jim  Pyke  was  cookin' 
his  victuals  with  one  hand  and  shootin'  Injuns  with  t'  other. 
For  the  Lord's  sake!  What  dew  you  s'pose  I  took  Jim 
fer  better  or  wus  fer  if  I  couldn't  pull  an  even  yoke  with 
him  in  the  wust?  You  ken  make  up  yer  mind  Deacon 
that  Pyke's  wife  stays,  an'  if  wust  comes  ter  wust,  Jim 
may  cook  while  I  shoot,  or  I  '11  shoot  while  Jim  cooks. 
Ivor'  sakes-alive!  yer  may  talk  desertion  ter  yer  city  gals, 
but  Jim  Pyke's  wife  ain't  no  such  a  woman.  Bless  yer 
heart,  Deacon,  I  an'  Jim  come  here  together  fer  ter  settle, 
an'  that  are  ort  ter  settle  it,  an'  'twill,  so  fur's  I  'low  yer 
ter  count  on  me." 

And  there  was  more  than  a  murmur  of  female  applause 
went  up  from  that  log  castle.  Educated,  well-bred  ladies, — 
for  there  were  not  a  few  such  in  the  settlement,  took  Jim 
Pyke's  wife  by  the  hand,  looked  into  her  thin,  pale,  care- 
worn face,  and  with  tears  in  their  eyes,  and  in  their  throats 
that  sense  of  impeded  respiration  which  comes  of  deep 
emotion,  they  thanked  her  and  called  down  the  blessing 
of  God  upon  the  ' '  dear,  little  soul ' '  who  had  taught 
them  what  now  appeared  so  plain  a  duty.  And  for  the 


164  DOOM   OF  WASHAKIM. 

next  five  minutes  of  that  hour  the  female  element  was  in 
the  ascendant. 

Gershom  Rice,  catching  the  infection  of  nobility  from 
the  grandeur  of  personality  which  woman's  trial  so  often 
evokes,  moved  a  reconsideration  of  the  vote,  humorously 
remarking: 

"  If  we  proceed  to  carry  the  measure  into  effect,  I  'm 
afraid  the  war  between  the  sexes  will  be  more  fatal — to 
happiness  at  least — than  the  worst  we  apprehend  from 
the  Injuns." 

The  vote  was  rescinded,  notwitstanding  the  parson 
labored  hard  to  check  the  growing  revulsion  from  the 
original  vote  while  the  question  was  pending.  Cool,  cal- 
culating, bovine  courage  and  unswerving  persistency  were 
his  characteristics.  He  knew  little  of  the  softer  moods 
engendered  in  the  breast  of  man  where  woman  is  ac- 
knowledged mistress  and  inspirator. 

' '  Why  in  the  world  a  woman  should  wish  to  remain 
here  while  it  is  absolutely  certain  she  can  be  of  no  manner 
of  use,  but,  on  the  contrary,  an  encumbrance,  passes 
ordinary  comprehension,"  testily  ejaculated  he. 

The  parson  was  a  good  enough  man,  a  brave  man  and 
a  kind  one,  but  he  had  no  wife,  no  family,  no  children, 
and  the  day  in  which  he  might  have  been  susceptible  to  a 
young  love  that  grows  in  wedlock  was  long  past.  There 
were  in  life,  influences  to  which,  being  ignorant  of,  he 
was  not  amenable.  Affections  which  he  could  not  fath- 
om. Depths  of  love  to  which  celibates  and  anchorites  are 
strangers. 


DOOM   OF  WASHAKIM.  165 

He  was  an  honest  man,  but  lie  mistakenly  took  to  be 
literally  construed  the  precept,  ' '  wives  obey  your  hus- 
bands." 

Furthermore  he  truly  believed  that  the  communicants 
of  the  Church  of  Christ,  under  Calvin,  were  the  chosen 
people  of  God.  That  this  wilderness  was  a  veritable  du- 
plication of  the  promised  land;  that  America  was  Pro- 
testantism's rightful  inheritance,  and  that  the  command 
of  the  Most  High,  laid  upon  Israel,  to  dispossess  the 
heathen  and  to  despoil  them  of  their  goods,  to  cut  them 
off  utterly  from  the  face  of  the  earth  by  fire  and  sword, 
was  in  a  notable  degree  applicable  to  this  particular 
instance. 

And  the  parson  was  a  wise  man,  and  very  well  knew 
that  the  weaker  half  of  the  social  fabric  is  an  ugly  en- 
cumbrance when  "  Greek  meets  Greek." 

But  it  was  well  for  him  that  the  vote  to  rescind  was 
passed  over  his  head,  or  the  growing  feminine  indignation 
would  have  resulted  in  his  pastoral  deposition. 

He  would  have  learned  to  his  dismay  that  there  is  a 
power  behind  the  throne  that  asks  no  let  and  bides  no 
hindrance. 

The  meeting  was  dissolved  without  action.  The  women 
were  to  stay.  Pyke's  wife's  speech  had  subdued  the  gar- 
rison and  invested  the  Castle.  But  it  is  not  certain  that 
the  temerity  of  the  women  did  not  cost  the  settlers  the 
plantation,  for  the  refusal  to  leave  hastened  the  general 
evacuation,  where,  if  the  weak  arm  had  been  put  out  of 
harm's  way,  the  sound  one,  armed  completely  as  it  was, 


1 66  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

and  amply  fortified,  might  perhaps  have  successfully  re- 
sisted any  combination  of  force  with  which  they  could 
have  been  beset,  especially  as  the  rage  of  the  Indian  soon 
exhausts  itself.  His  persistency  relaxes ;  he  becomes 
impatient  of  delay,  and  his  fickle  temper  grasps  at  new 
promises  and  flies  to  fresher  fields  of  action. 

Discretion,  that  "better  part  of  valor,"   was  on  the 
parson's  side,  and  he  wisely  simulated  acquiescence. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

STORMING  THE 


WHILE  the  whites  at  the  plantation  were  undecided, 
waiting,  in  the  vain  hope  that  after  all  the  outrages  had 
been  committed  by  predatory  bands,  and  were  not  the 
result  of  a  wide  spread  conspiracy,  they  had  yet  been 
using  their  utmost  endeavors  to  place  themselves  in  the 
best  possible  state  of  defense,  not  forgetting  to  provide  by 
every  available  means  for  a  safe  retreat  should  it  be 
forced  upon  them. 

Captain  Ephraim  Curtis,  who  with  a  party  of  armed 
men,  chiefly  from  the  lower  settlements,  had  been  scour- 
ing the  country  to  the  west,  and  had  actually  engaged 
the  enemy  upon  two  or  three  occasions,  the  last  being  at 
Quabog,  where  for  a  day  and  a  night  after  the  massacre 
and  burning  of  the  settlement,  he  with  his  command  had 
been  besieged  in  a  log  cabin  belonging  to  the  place,  was 
now  at  hand,  and  his  skill  and  fame  as  an  Indian  fighter 
served  greatly  to  allay  the  fears  of  the  timid  and  feeble 
and  to  encourage  the  strong. 

Being  a  fearless  man  and  yet  commendably  cautious; 
adept  in  all  the  wiles  and  arts  of  the  Indians  themselves, 
and  master  of  their  school  of  warfare;  acquainted  with 
the  peculiarities  of  the  different  tribes  and  able  not  only 


1 68  DOOM   OP   WASHAKIM. 

to  distinguish  between  them  on  sight,  or  even  loose 
description,  but  to  actually  gauge  their  fighting  numbers, 
and  the  temper  and  capacity  of  each,  he  was  just  the  man 
to  govern  in  the  emergency,  should  hostilities  open  at 
their  doors. 

Meantime  the  Wigwam  Hill  Indians  had  not  been  idle. 
Prompted  by  the  significant  mutterings  of  the  old  squaw 
sorceress,  and  by  her  pretended  or  other  preternatural 
visions,  to  attempt  the  solution  of  a  mystery  in  which 
were  involved  not  only  interests  vital  to  themselves  but 
of  deep  concern  to  their  neighbors,  the  whites,  they  had 
sent  out  spies,  they  hardly  knew  exactly  what  for,  as  the 
old  squaw's  visions,  warnings,  and  intimations,  as  they 
came  and  went,  seemed  to  bear  no  sequent  relation  to  one 
another,  but  were  abrupt,  disconnected  and  indefinite, 
like  the  vague  wanderings  of  an  unbalanced  mind. 

These  spies  had  been  sent  out  and  had  returned,  not 
full  masters  of  the  secret  they  had  hoped  to  unravel,  but 
bringing  ample  evidence  that  their  suspicions  of  Washakim 
treachery  had  been  well  grounded,  and  that  the  squaw 
was  mistress  of  more  than  normal  insight.  That  to  her 
at  times,  distance  was  compressed  into  proximity,  that 
opacity  was  no  absolute  bar  to  vision,  and  that  she  was 
at  least  partial  mistress  of  the  passage  way  between  things 
seen  and  the  intangible  ephemera  of  spirit  life.  In  con- 
nection with  her  strange  machinations — if  machinations 
they  really  were — they  remembered  the  ghost  upon  the 
hill  scarp  that  struck  dumbness  to  the  Narragansett  king. 
They  remembered  the  figures  of  light  that  glided  so 


DOOM  OP   WASHAKIM.  169 

weirdly  over  the  rocks  and  along  the  ledges  and  vanished 
into  thin  air — into  the  blackness  of  midnight.  They 
remembered  the  voices  that  seemed  to  proceed  from  the 
cave — the  cave  high  up  and  near  the  north  end  of 
the  perpendicular  wall,  now  choked  by  that  mass  of 
debris, — fragments  of  rocks  dismembered  from  the  cliff  by 
the  action  of  frosts  in  two  hundred  winters.  They 
remembered  the  whispered  warnings  that  came  over  the 
lake  at  evening,  came  seemingly  in  answer  to  her  incan- 
tations while  she  brewed  her  mess  of  poison  ivy,  dogwood 
and  noxious  weeds,  and  talked  familiarly  with  things 
unseen,  mental  projections  upon  vacancy,  whispered 
answers,  not  direct,  but  like  echoes  from  the  opposite 
bluffs,  groans,  like  the  wail  of  torture  long  endured,  that 
seemed  to  burden  the  air  upon  the  hill  top  and  to  roll 
down  like  weighty  matter  upon  the  hush  of  the  birch 
wigwams.  They  had  not  yet  learned  of  Cotton  Mather 
the  super-devilishness  of  witchcraft,  or  they  would  have 
drowned  her  in  her  boiling  brew. 

Knough  had  now  come  to  the  ears  of  the  Hill  Indians 
to  convince  them  that  the  Washakims  were  not  only  still 
their  deadly  enemies,  but  that  the  league,  of  which  they 
were  among  the  most  active  members,  had  conspired:  first 
to  deeply  injure  them,  and  then  to  bind  them  to  the 
interest  of  the  scheming  Narragansett,  through  the  basest 
form  of  deception. 

So  much  were  they  enraged  by  the  actual  harm  so  far  ac- 
complished, and  so  indignant  that  Philip  should  have 
made  them  his  dupes  rather  than  his  free  and  confidential 


170  DOOM   OP   WASHAKIM. 

allies,  that  they  were  not  long  in  deciding  to  do  their 
utmost  to  favor  the  planters  by  all  covert  means,  while, 
through  apprehension  of  consequences  in  event  of  disaster 
to  their  friends,  they  outwardly  seemed  to  favor  the 
alliance  and  the  general  massacre  which  was  the  ultimatum 
of  its  designs.  And  the  first  act  of  amity  toward  the 
planters  should  be  to  make  them  fully  aware  of  the  pur- 
poses of  Philip  and  the  methods  by  which  he  aimed  to 
effect  the  extermination  of  the  hated  race. 

Three  days  had  now  passed,  days  of  the  deepest  solici- 
tude the  whites  had  ever  experienced  since  the  first  time 
they  forded  the  shallows  at  the  north  end  of  the  lake  to 
strike  their  axes  into  the  old  forests  of  the  west  and  pro- 
claim their  occupancy  of  the  Quinsigamond  grant.  Day 
by  day,  without  citation,  even  without  tacit  understand- 
ing, they  had  regularly  convened  at  early  morning  at  the 
Castle  Tavern.  No  one  could  say  exactly  for  what  they 
had  assembled,  but  each  instinctively  realized  that  in 
union  only  was  safety,  if  safety  was  to  be  found,  and  that 
a  common  cause  makes  common  brotherhood  its  correla- 
tive. 

I/ittle  differences,  such  as  are  sure  to  occur  to  some 
degree  in  small  communities  where  each  as  a  freeman 
acknowledges  none  better  born;  some  that  grow  out  of 
diversities  of  opinion,  some  coming  of  envy,  and  small 
jealousies  arising  in  disparity  of  conditions,  of  culture, 
of  intellect,  property,  or  of  official  or  social  position;  all 
were  for  the  time  buried  in  an  oblivion  as  complete  as  if  that 
promised  day  of  final  adjustment,  when  "  the  first  shall  be 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  IJI 

last,  and  the  last  first,"  was  already  at  hand,  and  for  the 
time  at  least,  a  whole  community  returned  to  its  primal 
status,  a  condition  of  free  and  equal.  But  on  the  morning 
of  the  fourth  day,  at  a  time  when  it  happened,  though 
without  preconcertion,  that  beside  the  men,  every  woman 
in  the  plantation  was  in  or  about  the  Castle  or  Tavern, 
some  Indians  were  seen  coming  down  the  declivity  by  the 
Bell  Pond  path,1  and  for  a  wonder  they  were  not  recog- 
nized as  praying  Indians  who  invariably  wore  as  a 
distinguishing  badge,  an  old  coat,  breeches,  or  cocked 
hat, — some  cast-off  garment  of  white  men's  wear.  They 
were  not  of  the  converts.  What  could  it  mean  ?  They 
were  Quinsigamonds,  but  the  Hill  Indians  had  of  late 
been  exceeding  chary  of  their  visits,  had  even  more 
than  once  expressed  malignity  toward  the  whites,  and 
Indian  like,  had  sulked  and  skulked,  But  they  were 
Wigwam  Hill  Indians  and  were  their  best  fighting  men, 
ten  in  number. 

A  half  dozen  of  the  old  flint-locks  of  the  time  dropped 
into  position  of  ready ;  as  many  flint  hammers  clicked  above 
the  priming  pans,  and  as  many  planters  stepped  to  the 
front  and  gave  the  customary  challenge:  "Halt!  Where 
are  you  going  ?  and  what  have  you  to  say  ?  " 

No  sooner  was  the  party  challenged  than  each  laid  his 
tomahawk  on  the  ground  as  a  token  of  peaceful  intent, 
and  moving  forward  to  within  a  few  feet  of  the  planters 
addressed  them:  "Hill  Injun  all  good;  Hill  Injun  no 

1Bell  Pond  on  Millstone  Hill,  near  its  summit,  and  equal 
distance  from  the  Castle  and  the  lake. 


172  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

fight.  Dig  hole,  hide  tomahawk.  Big  heap  Injun  fight. 
All  Quinnapoxit,  all  Tehassit,  all  Washakim,  Nipnets  all. 
Big  chief  come, — Philip  the  Wampanoag.  Philip  lead  all 
men,  Cold  country,  hot  country,  and  where  the  sun 
sleeps.  Philip  great  man,  brave  man,  bad  man.  Take 
big  heap  scalp.  White  brave  die.  White  squaw  cry; 
pappoose  nowhere.  Hill  Injun  cry  too.  Injun  nebber 
cry 'fore.  Hill  Injun  sorry.  Injun  hungry,  white  squaw 
make  bread.  Injun  tired,  white  squaw  gib  drink.  Injun 
gib  leetle  bit  deer  meat,  white  squaw  gib  big  heap  salt, 
say  swap.  Injun  no  got  salt.  White  pappoose  like  Injun. 
Injun  make  play.  Pappoose  all  dead;  so  bad,  you  guess. 
White  man  got  book,  say  Great  Spirit  talk;  do' know; 
mebbe.  Injun  'fraid  Great  Spirit.  Great  Spirit  talk  for 
Injun,  say  tell  white  man  go  small  time;  go  now,  old 
squaw  say  go,  Great  Spirit  say  go!  Go!  'fore  sun-up. " 
And  the  Indians  lifted  their  tomahawks  from  the  ground 
and  walked  rapidly  away  in  single  file  back  by  the  Bell 
Pond  trail  toward  the  lake. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  import  of  the  warning 
these  wild  Indians  had  left  that  morning  with  their  old 
friends,  the  planters.  The  very  worst  that  could  be 
dreamed  of  was  conveyed  in  those  abbreviated  bolts  of 
broken  English,  but  they  had  given  bane  and  antidote, 
and  cruel  as  was  the  alternative  the  white  man  must 
perforce  accept  it. 

A  meeting  was  convened  upon  the  spot.  Short  argu- 
ments were  the  rule.  It  needed  but  a  suggestion  to  call 
out  unanimity  in  the  choice  of  Ephraim  Curtis  as  die- 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  173 

tator  in  the  emergency.  ' '  We  may  as  well  be  ready  to 
stand  at  his  back,"  said  Comfort  Hart.  "Every  man  to 
his  trade.  Ephraim's  trade  is  war,  but  he  must  have  the 
tools. ' '  Without  a  dissenting  voice  Curtis  was  elected  to 
act  upon  his  own  discretion,  and  without  hesitation  he 
announced  his  intention  to  retreat  upon  Marlborough  the 
following  morning. 

Digory  Sergent  approved  of  the  retreat  so  far  as  all  but 
himself  was  concerned.  "But,"  said  Digory,  "I  have 
ploughed  and  planted,  and,  God  willing  I  will  reap  the 
harvest."  But  he  "sowed  the  wind."  He  urged  his 
wife  and  daughters  to  seek  safety  in  flight,  but  all  to  no 
purpose.  They  would  not  go.  To  them  desertion  looked 
like  fear,  and  there  was  too  much  of  old  Digory  in  the 
blood  to  take  counsel  of  it.  It  needed  no  reflection  to 
bring  the  daughters  to  that  resolve.  They  had  the  stout 
courage  of  the  father  and  the  dutiful  faith  of  the  mother. 
Even  the  baby  in  the  mother's  arms  must  abide  the  con- 
sequences of  the  father's  temerity.  The  self-assured, 
womanly  Martha,  the  beautiful  Susan,  the  half  of  whose 
seventeen  summers  had  been  passed  in  all  the  taste, 
refinement  and  culture  of  the  elite  of  Boston  society, 
where  her  beauty,  sweetness  of  temper  and  vivacious 
humor  had  been  the  open  sesame  to  any  househould,  and 
where  she  had  been  schooled  and  honored  like  a  rich 
man's  daughter;  the  little  Nettie,  years  short  of  her 
teens,  each  and  all  must  be  sacrificed  at  the  shrine  of  a 
father's  uncalculating  assurance  and  rash  daring. 

Night  once  again  settled  down  upon  the  doomed  plan- 


174  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

tation.  The  lowing  of  home-driven  cattle  was  hushed 
in  the  sheds;  the  katydids  disputed  and  quarreled  in 
the  solitary  chestnut  tree  by  the  tavern  stoop,  and  the 
whip-poor-will  chimed  in  a  dismal  chorus.  But  there 
came  up  a  voice  from  Bimelick  that  fatal  night,  so  dole- 
fully sad,  so  painfully  articulate,  so  much  the  prognostic 
of  evil,  to  a  mind  alive  to  fear  and  susceptible  to  super- 
stition, that  when  it  uttered  its  warning:  "  Better  beware!" 
as  it  seemed  to  say,  more  than  one  planter  stepped  from 
his  bed  and  pushing  aside  the  curtain  peered  out  into 
the  night  to  see  if  the  threatened  danger  was  really  at 
hand. 

"Ten."  The  clock  was  striking:  "  Eleven— twelve 
o'clock!  Twelve  o'clock! ' ' — and  a  long-drawn,  clear,  cat- 
like yell.  It  was  not  like  some  house  cat's  yell,  but  that 
more  startling,  horrible  screech  of  his  untamed,  tameless, 
wild  cousin.  It  rang  through  the  tree-tops;  rang  over  the 
settlement;  rang  in  frightful  echoes;  rang  thousand- tongued 
like  the  knell  of  doomsday — over — around — encompassing 
— covering  the  plantation  with  a  mantle  of  vocal  horrors. 
You  never  heard  it,  did  you?  You  never  will.  It  belonged 
to  another  age  and  was  left  out  of  your  legacy.  It  was 
not  the  wild  cat.  No  short-tailed  brindled  terror 
crouched  in  the  fork  of  a  tree;  no  feline  utterance  ever 
approximated  to  it  in  ferocity.  Seven  hundred  savages, 
drawn  from  the  four  winds  of  heaven,  from  every  point 
of  the  compass;  from  the  St.  Lawrence,  from  the  Connecti- 
cut, and  from  the  promontory  which  divides  the  great 
Fall  River  bay  from  the  Narragansett  and  Popsquash 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  175 

harbor,  with  many  Nipnets,  had  swooped  down  to 
execute  the  decree  of  Fate  upon  the  plantation. 

But  the  planters  were  prepared.  The  warning  of  the 
Hill  Indians  had  not  been  lost  upon  them.  Every  white 
man,  whether  in  bed  or  on  guard,  had  by  his  side  a  musket 
and  sixty  rounds  of  spherical  death,  and  every  man, 
woman  and  child,  with  the  exception  of  Sergent  and 
family,  was  for  the  night  ensconsed  in  the  Castle  or 
Tavern.  The  men  were  mostly  in  the  Tavern,  and 
between  that  and  the  Castle  was  a  covered  way  in  the 
form  of  a  hastily  constructed  stockade,  slit  with  loopholes 
for  musket  practice. 

And  the  Indians  established  a  burial  place.  They  dug 
graves  at  sunrise,  under  the  red  oaks  south  of  the 
Castle  an  eighth  of  a  league,  after  the  harvest  of  souls; 
after  the  fearful  night;  and  five-score  of  them  were  left 
sitting  bolt  upright,  with  arms  in  their  hands  and  maize 
on  the  ear  by  their  sides,  facing  the  morning, — waiting  for 
the  resurrection. 

There  they  waited  by  the  east  bridle-path,  the  Black- 
stone  trail;  under  the  red  oaks  waited;  until  we  of  the 
nineteenth  century  saw  them  exhumed.1 

Captain  Curtis  was  at  his  post  no  wit  dismayed;  only 
vSeeming  to  gloat  over  his  opportunity.  He  had  scored 
for  the  red  men,  had  lost  an  ear  and  part  of  his  scalp,  and 

1  Their  bones  were  exhumed  at  the  excavation  for  the  school- 
house  corner  of  Summer  and  School  streets  about  the  year  1836. 
Some,  by  mistake  or  misinformation,  have  supposed  them  to  be 
bones  of  early  settlers — but  why,  then,  the  stone  weapons  found  ? 
or  the  peculiar  posture  of  the  skeletons  ? 


176  DOOM  OF  WASHAKIM. 

had  charged  them  with  sundry  flesh  wounds,  and  the  day 
of  reckoning  had  come. 

The  women  and  children  were  safe  in  the  Castle  and 
not  at  their  homes — as  in  Brookfield  and  Lancaster — 
and  all  the  men  had  to  do  was  to  fight.  The  terraced 
and  battlemented  roof  of  the  Castle  afforded  ample  survey 
of  the  surroundings,  with  the  glacis  at  hand  and  the 
scattering  forest  beyond; — if  only  daylight  would  come. 
Even  as  it  was  the  moonlight  was  sufficient  to  expose  an 
Indian  when  crossing  the  open  in  front  and  upon  either 
side,  and  when  thirty  or  forty  lay  dead,  and  their  com- 
rades who  tried  to  carry  them  off,  tarried  with  them,  they 
desisted  awhile. 

The  windows  in  the  Tavern,  the  loop-holes  in  the 
stockade  and  the  battlemented  roof  and  tower,  manned 
by  sixty  sharpshooters,  each  provided  with  sixty  rounds 
of  shot,  were  odds  against  seven  hundred  bowmen,  if 
under  fair  discipline,  and  if  only  the  moonlight  would 
last.  But  a  black  cloud  was  rising  up  over  the  hill  on  the 
west,  the  hill  toward  Tehassit;  and  moving  on,  a  tempest 
without  rain,  it  soon  enveloped  the  settlement  in  darkness, 
and  under  its  cover  both  Castle  and  Tavern  were  fiercely 
beset.  The  Tavern  was  soon  in  flames,  and  by  its  light 
the  Indians  again  became  the  unthinking  target  for  bullets 
as  at  word  of  command  sixty  fire-locks  flashed  out  as  one, 
and  sixty  red-skins  rolled  in  the  dust,  or  crept  away 
bleeding  and  maimed. 

Desultory  firing  continued  until  morning.  The  fire  at 
the  Tavern  was  quenched,  but  new  ones  were  set,  and  at 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  177 

eVery  such  occasion  several  of  the  enemy  paid  the  forfeit 
of  their  temerity  with  life.  Morning  came;  the  morning 
the  white  men  had  prayed  for,  but  it  brought  with  its 
light  new  perils,  for,  although  all  were  so  far  safe  and 
sound  in  person,  it  was  evident  that  not  only  was  ammu- 
nition getting  low,  but  that  where  they  had  reckoned 
upon  scores  for  an  enemy  it  was  now  certain  they  were 
numbered  by  hundreds. 

The  odds  now  apparent  were  two  great,  for  even  could 
the  Castle  be  kept  from  fire,  the  besiegers  might  suffer, 
but  the  garrison  must  speedily  starve.  It  was  evident 
the  Castle  must  be  abandoned  forthwith,  and  Curtis 
devised  a  retreat  which  was  speedily  put  in  execution. 
He,  with  several  young  men,  accompanied  by  Parson 
Meekman  who  was  ever  ready  for  anything  like  a  forlorn 
hope — save  the  one  without  Christ — made  a  sally ,  and  reach- 
ing some  sheltering  trees,  opened  the  war  again  according 
to  true  Indian  tactics.  Whether  or  not  we  try  to  account 
for  the  white  man's  superior  skill  and  success  in  the  bar- 
barous methods  of  warfare,  by  giving  him  credit  for 
greater  intelligence,  agility,  or  courage,  certain  it  is  that 
when  equally  armed,  and  equal  in  numbers,  the  Indian 
is  no  match  for  him.  He  only  excels  in  the  midnight 
foray,  when  the  whites  are  asleep. 

Once  in  position  the  men  opened  fire  at  long  range, 
from  behind  a  tree,  a  stump,  or  a  log,  and  their  fire  told 
with  deadly  effect.  Whenever  an  Indian,  inspired  by 
hatred,  revenge,  or  ambition  for  fame  among  his  fellows, 
aimed  to  get  within  bow-shot  length,  and  in  doing  so  dis- 


1 78  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

closed  enough  of  his  person  to  be  covered  with  sight  and 
bead,  an  Indian  fell  or  hurriedly  left  his  post  disabled, 
and  as  the  white  men  dodged  from  tree  to  tree,  but  little 
annoyed  by  bowmen  kept  at  such  distance,  the  fugitives 
poured  out  of  the  Castle,  the  women  and  children  in  the 
van,  while  the  planters  brought  up  the  rear,  regardless  of 
consequences  to  themselves  as  they  made  a  breastwork  of 
their  bodies  against  the  nearly  spent  arrows  that  were 
showered  upon  them. 

It  was  now  that  Parson  Meekman  began  to  exhibit  in 
bold  relief  the  other  extreme  of  his  dual  nature,  hitherto 
manifest  chiefly  in  words.  He  had,  times  without  num- 
ber, succored  individual  savages  in  distress,  had  commended 
them  to  God  in  earnest,  heart-felt  prayer,  bound  up  their 
wounds,  fed  their  hungry  with  an  unsparing  hand,  had 
nursed  their  sick  and  done  for  them  manifold  little  kind- 
nesses. He  had  in  all  things  obeyed  the  injunction  laid 
by  Jesus  his  Master  upon  Simon  Peter.  But  with  the 
shadow  of  an  uprising  or  turbulence,  or  any  manner  of 
insubordination — for  the  relative  position  was  always  that 
of  ruler  and  subject — the  sword  of  speech  had  leaped  from 
its  scabbard  and  whirled  in  a  tirade  of  pious  but  terrible 
invective. 

That  he  was  kind,  considerate,  and  even  tender,  had 
been  a  thousand  times  evinced  in  the  past  by  little  tokens 
of  sympathy  and  as  many  self-sacrificing  efforts  to  alle- 
viate distress  among  his  neighbors,  but  it  remained  for 
this  hour  to  bring  out  the  sterner  qualities  of  his  being 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  179 

and  to  demonstrate  that,  notwithstanding  his  proclivity 
for  threatening  speech,  "  a  barking  dog  may  bite." 

The  rollicking,  dare-devil  element,  true  to  the  blood  of 
his  Irish  ancestry,  unsubdued,  but  held  in  laudable 
abeyance  after  his  espousal  of  Protestantism  and  elevation 
to  the  dignity  of  a  pastorate,  seemed  to  reassert  its  exist- 
ence and  exemplify  itself  in  that  forward,  unflinching 
courage  which  utterly  abjures  that  "  better  part  of  valor." 
He  handled  a  fire-lock  like  an  old  woodsman.  He 
aimed  with  the  accuracy  of  a  keen  eye,  a  practiced  hand, 
a  steady  nerve,  and  an  unruffled,  even  buoyant  temper. 
Every  time  his  flint  struck  fire  an  Indian  took  his  ticket 
of  leave  and  started  for  the  happy  hunting  grounds,  and 
when,  as  on  more  than  one  occasion  occurred,  a  handful 
of  the  most  resolute  of  the  enemy  ventured  a  hand-to- 
hand  conflict,  they  fell  back  dead,  or  discomfited,  and 
convinced  that  the  parson  was  as  much  an  expert  in  the 
use  of  temporal  as  of  spiritual  weapons,  and  that  the  half 
broad-ax  he  carried  slung  in  his  belt  was  quite  the  equiva- 
lent of  the  Indian  war-club  or  hatchet  of  stone.  At  one 
time,  when  the  rear-guard  were  sorely  pressed  and  for  a 
moment  demoralized  by  the  torture  of  a  hundred  wound- 
ing arrows  shot  at  short  range,  the  parson  threw  himself 
into  the  breach,  and  in  the  attitude  of  command  shouted — 
' '  By  the  God  of  Abraham  !  We  will  not  succumb  to  this 
Babylonish  whore — close  up  and  give  the  heathen  another 
round  ! ' '  And  at  the  next  breath  a  volley  tore  from  the 
freshly  determined  guard  that  struck  terror  to  the  too 
daring  archers.  What  Curtis  was  as  a  commander  and 


ISO  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

scout,  Parson  Meektnan — Mike  Rafferty  that  was — proved 
himself  in  physical  strength  and  desperate  valor  as  a 
leader  of  the  forlorn  hope,  or  captain  of  the  rear  guard. 

By  slow  degrees  the  retreating  party  made  their  way, 
many  of  them  wounded,  but  none  dead  nor  even  mortally 
hurt,  until  they  passed  the  ford  at  the  north  end  of  the 
lake.  The  well-directed  aim  of  the  musket  men  put  it 
out  of  the  question  for  the  Indians  to  use  their  toma- 
hawks with  serious  effect,  and  the  arrows,  at  long  range, 
were  not  formidable  weapons. 

Some  new  idea  seemed  now  to  take  possession  of  the 
allies, — some  scheme  more  promising,  and  with  one  mind 
they  abandoned  the  pursuit  and  returned  to  the  planta- 
tion where  several  score  had  remained  to  complete  the 
work  of  destruction. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

OLD   DIGORY  YIELDS   TO  ENTREATY. 

IN  a  field  so  wide  as  that  your  scribe  has  selected,  of  a 
period  so  remote,  and  with  authentic  annals  so  meagre, 
nothing  would  seem  more  invitingly  easy — supposing 
that  he,  the  writer,  was  gifted  with  the  necessary  con- 
structive ability — than  to  abandon  the  sequence,  if  not 
the  entire  substance  of  historical  events,  and  to  rally  upon 
the  imagination  for  incidents,  so  endeavoring  to  enhance 
interest  by  startling  innovations  and  fictitious  embellish- 
ments. But  as  legendary  and  traditional  lore  of  the 
epoch  still  abound,  for  the  ear  of  him  who  will  stop  to 
hear  catches  or  broken  recitals  by  octogenarians  who, 
through  the  years  have  kept  green  in  memory  fireside 
tales  of  the  weal  and  woe  of  a  township,  the  course 
would  seem  unpardonable,  even  though  it  might  promise 
the  author  some  feeble  recompense  in  the  way  of  public 
acknowledgment  of  a  tithe  of  originality. 

The  whites,  with  the  exception  of  Digory  Sergent  and 
family,  had  made  safe  retreat  to  Marlborough,  and  the 
Indians — who  had  found  little  to  compensate  them  for 
danger  and  hardship  incurred,  while  skilled  men  like 
Ephraim  Curtis  and  his  determined  corps  fought  them  in 
their  own  fashion  and  declined  leaving  them  even  a  scalp 


1 82  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

as  a  trophy;  men  who  could  demonstrate  their  omni- 
presence and  yet  be  rarely  visible — had  returned  to  the 
plantation  to  review  their  scene  of  devastation  and  to 
enjoy  its  fruits. 

The  retreat  had  been  consummately  planned  and  so 
bravely  carried  into  execution  that  even  Black  Pompey 
and  Archer's  mare  had  been  conducted  free  from  harm 
by  Black  Jake  and  were  now  safely  stalled  in  Marlborough. 
Archer  himself  had  been  absent  from  the  settlement 
several  days  and  was,  supposably,  a  prisoner  among  the 
Washakims,  or  had  fallen  a  victim  to  their  murderous 
inclinations.  There  were  those  of  the  planters  who  sur- 
mised that  Eugene  had  tired  of  country  life  and  made 
his  way  on  foot  to  Boston.  The  tramp  was  nothing  for 
men  of  that  day, — but  why  should  he  have  left  a  very 
valuable  piece  of  horse-flesh  ?  It  was  improbable,  to  say 
the  least. 

There  was  little  left  in  the  way  of  booty  to  compensate 
an  Indian  for  the  hazard  of  an  open  battle  with  such  an 
enemy,  or  even  to  engage  in  a  midnight  foray,  as  what- 
ever property  not  portable,  the  whites  possessed,  excepting 
several  barrels  of  rum,  which  were  stored  in  the  cellars 
and  refused  to  burn  in  the  cask  in  the  general  conflagra- 
tion, was  regarded  by  the  Indians  with  contempt. 
Buildings,  agricultural  implements,  such  as  they  were, 
furniture,  everything  a  white  man  esteems  as  personal 
property,  was  to  them  a  superfluity,  beneath  the  dignity 
of  a  forest  lord  to  put  to  use,  for  however  ridiculous 
might  seem  the  assumption  of  superiority  on  the  part  of 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  183 

the  savage,  certain  it  was  that  after  the  first  glamour 
produced  by  gay  attire,  and  the  long-range  death  in  the 
white  man's  weapon  was  over,  they  heartily  despised  a 
race  that  yoked  its  men  to  one  end  of  a  plow  and  at  the 
same  time  adorned  its  women  with  jewels  and  painted 
feathers. 

But  two  objects  engrossed  the  Indians'  care  when  once 
the  hatchet  had  been  lifted  from  the  earth  and  his  mocca- 
sins had  been  turned  to  the  war-path.  First  his  savage 
pride  must  be  gratified  by  the  possession  of  those  tangible 
evidences  of  bravery,  those  true  ornaments  of  the 
warrior,  finer  than  blankets  of  beaver,  richer  than  robes 
of  otter,  more  beautiful  to  look  upon  than  the  gold  of 
the  white  man,  or  than  wealth  of  native  wampum, — the 
scalp  locks  of  an  enemy. 

The  next  matter  worthy  of  consideration  was  the  utter 
destruction  of  all  that  an  enemy,  if  a  white  man,  might 
prize  as  property,  and  more  especially  his  abode;  and  the 
better  the  dwelling,  the  more  certain  and  thorough  the 
destruction. 

With  this  disposition  of  mind  dominant,  the  Indians, 
to  the  number  of  seven  hundred,  less  some  ninety  who 
fell  during  the  short  siege  and  pursuit,  a  motley  mass 
gleaned  from  the  four  quarters  of  the  north  country,  from 
the  wilds  of  Ontario,  from  the  shores  of  the  St.  Lawrence, 
the  forests  of  the  Penobscot,  from  the  Mohawk  wood  by 
the  Connecticut,  and  from  the  Narragansett  region  on 
the  south — of  the  last  a  few  only  were  sent  up  by  Philip 
as  inspirators — and  from  several  of  the  Nipnet  tribes, 


184  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

with  the  spirit  of  devastation,  the  effect  of  the  persuasive 
tongue  of  that  eloquent  diplomat  and  bold  leader, — the 
Wampanoag  chief — boiling  in  their  bosoms,  and  each  bent 
on  working  havoc  in  his  own  wild  way,  for  as  yet  they 
were,  in  Philip's  absence,  leaderless  as  a  pack  of  wolves, 
except  as  whim  or  circumstances  threw  them  for  the  hour 
under  the  fierce  guidance  of  Tehuanto  the  Washakim,  or 
the  still  ruder  king  of  the  Ontarios,  they  had  returned  to 
the  doomed  settlement  and  seizing  the  smoking  embers 
of  the  already  ruined  tavern,  castle,  and  store,  were  not 
long  in  reducing  every  remaining  structure  to  a  bed  of 
ashes.  Not  all  the  property  was  destroyed,  for  the 
charred  barrels  of  rum  were  seasonably  rescued  from  the 
debris  of  the  tavern  and  store.  So  far  the  houses  of 
Sergent  and  Jonas  Rice  of  Sagatabscot,  and  of  Gershom 
Rice  and  Hart  of  Packachoag,  being  far  away,  had 
received  no  part  of  their  attention. 

It  was  a  sorry  day  for  the  Sergent  family  as  the  smoke 
of  the  ruined  settlement  darkened  the  northern  sky.  But 
Digory  was  still  obstinate  and  immovable.  So  utterly 
did  he  despise  a  race  incapable  of  fighting  face  to  face 
with  an  enemy,  and  so  much  did  he  rely  upon  his  faith- 
ful watch  dog  to  give  him  seasonable  warning  of  prowling 
Indians  by  day.or  night,  and  upon  his  own  prowess  to  make 
good  the  defense  of  his  log  castle  against  the  dozen  or  so 
he  imagined  had  wrought  the  mischief  that,  as  he  saw  the 
towers  of  smoke  climbing  the  midland  and  projecting  them- 
selves upon  and  above  the  blue  bosom  of  the  Wachusett  and 
knew  its  fearful  import,  he  declared  that  the  planters  must 


DOOM   OP   WASHAKIM.  185 

have  been  remiss  in  watchfulness  and  so  taken  unawares, 
or  perhaps  they  had  fled  at  the  first  hostile  demonstration 
of  the  prowling  besiegers.  For  himself  he  was  more 
determined  than  ever.  ' '  Would  he  skulk  out  and  retire 
because  a  pack  of  wolves  invested  the  grounds  and 
threatened  the  house  ?  or  would  he  remain  in  his  bullet- 
proof domicile  and  pick  off  his  assailants  one  by  one  until 
fatigue  and  loss  should  incline  them  to  engage  in  some 
more  hopeful  enterprise  ? 

"  But,  father,"  urged  Susan,  who  had  been  an  attentive 
listener  to  his  vocalized  revery,  "  if  they  have  ruined  the 
settlement  and  murdered,  the  Lord  only  knows  how  many, 
how  can  you,  single-handed,  be  able  to  cope  with  them  ? 

' '  If  they  were  a  handful  of  Indians,  who  have  done  this 
mischief,  possibly  four  of  us,  well-armed  as  we  are  with 
muskets,  might  hope  to  withstand  them  until  their  frenzy 
would  give  place  to  impatience,  and  they  might  draw  off 
to  the  execution  of  some  new  and  easier  scheme,  where 
the  people  are  less  prepared  and  resistance  less  obstinate. 
But,  father,  no  few  Indians  have  done  this  thing.  I 
would  not  pretend  to  be  wiser  than  you;  but  consider  if 
you  yourself,  with  our  aid  at  the  loopholes,  feel  assured 
you  might  successfully  resist  a  squad  of  perhaps  twenty, 
do  you  imagine  that  the  planters,  with  sixty  stout  men, 
well  armed  as  we  are,  were  likely  to  succumb  to  any 
inconsiderable  force  ?  And  did  not  John  tell  us  when 
he  was  alive  and  here,  that  a  war  was  imminent  ?  That 
the  great  Narragansett  king  was  poisoning  the  minds  of 
all  the  Nipnets  ?  The  Indian  murders  at  Brookfield, 


186  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

the  destruction  of  Lancaster,  the  massacres  at  Mendon, 
Manchoag,  and  that  of  Deerfield — if  it  is  true — all  at  about 
the  same  time,  argue  a  wide-spread  disaffection,  and  to 
cap  the  whole,  what  do  you  think  of  John's  disappear- 
ance? of  the  wounded  neck  of  Pompey,  and  the  warning 
of  the  Hill  Indians  to  our  people  ?  Do  not  these  things 
look  as  if  some  great,  mischievous  design  had  been  brew- 
ing; something  worse  than  the  mere  venting  of  spite  here 
and  there  by  individual  Indians  or  mere  clans  ?  John  has 
said  for  a  long  time,  that  our  neighbors,  the  Washakims, 
were  preparing  to  dig  up  the  hatchet,  and  who  could  be 
better  authority  than  he  who  has  hutted,  hunted,  and 
fished  with  them,  as  if  he  had  been  a  born  Indian.  He 
knew  all  their  habits  and  could  overmatch  the  best  of 
them  at  their  own  arts,  and  he  seemed  to  read  their 
thoughts  under  their  facial  lack  of  expression.  I  think, 
father,  it  is  time  we  should  all  go,  and  God  grant  that 
those  about  the  Castle  left  in  good  time. ' ' 

"Well,  Susan,  I  have  said  all  along  that  mother  and 
the  girls  should  go;  that  they  'd  ought  ter  go,  I  mean, 
ter  the  folks  in  Marlborough,  and  I  think  so  still. 
There 's  no  talkin'  to  a  woman,  Sue,  perticular  to  an 
edicated  one.  There 's  half  yer  words  I  don't  quite 
understand,  and  the  tother  half  runs  so  like  a  milltail, 
that  ag'in  I  've  got  the  fust  idee  straightened  out,  there  's 
a  dozen  more  all  el  bo  win'  their  way  inter  my  head,  until 
the  hull  thing  is  snarled  up  wus  'n  the  witch-knots  in 
Jenny's  mane.  As  for  what  has  happened  at  the  Castle, 
I  believe  it  was  all  because  the  folks  had  no  leader;  none 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  187 

ekal  ter  the  'mergency  I  mean,  and  they  got  demoralized. 
If  Cap'n  John  or  Eph  Curtis  had  been  there,  them  red 
devils  wouldn't  'a  smoked  'em  out  ser  easy.  They  must 
er  took  'em  unawares.  I  've  faith  ter  believe  that  no 
Injun  ever  fit  face  ter  face  if  there  was  a  chance  ter  run. 
I  've  sent  a  baker's  dozen  on  'em  ter  the'r  last  reckoning 
and  I  could  never  git  one  on  'em  ter  show  more  'n  three 
inches  square  of  hisself  till  I  went  up  ter  see  how  the 
old  rifle  kerried,  and  ter  find  out  jest  where  I  hit  'em.  I 
don't  take  skelps,  but  I  never  'low  an  Injun  ter  kerry  off 
his'n  ef  he  squints  at  me  over  er  log.  I  don't  see  any 
sense  in  mother  an'  the  gals  stayin'  here.  If  anybody  's 
got  ter  be  killed,  one  's  enough.  Come,  come!  now  gal,  be 
good  an'  say  ye '11  go,  an'  mother  an'  Martha  '11  soon  fall 
in  with  ye.  They  seem  to  think  whatever  yer  do  must 
be  right.  I  can't  for  the  life  on  me,  see  how  you  manage 
'em.  I  set  my  foot  down  that  I  won't  do  a  thing  an'  it 's 
no  use  er  talkin';  but  they  keep  talkin'  jest  the  same,  an' 
by  and  by,  when  I  git  a  leetle  of  the  savage  off,  I  go  an' 
do  it;  can't  help  it.  How  you  ken  haul  them  critters 
into  a  line  I  don't  see.  I  wish  you  would  go,  Sue. 
They  '11  mind  what  you  say  an'  do.  They  did  n't  like 
John  at  fust;  they  said  he  was  a  city  fop,  and  when  I 
didn't  make  any  fuss,  they  said  I  'd  spile  my  darter  if  I 
let  things  go  on,  an'  then  they  said  he  was  half  Injun; 
that  some  blue-eyed  soldier  had  been  too  much  about  the 
wigwams.  Martha  went  on  ter  say  that  he  was  a  tyrant, 
and  a  pompous,  overbearin'  martinet.  I  don't  know 
where  she  got  so  much  quality  English.  That  was  a 


1 88  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

trainin'  day.  Tham  ar  fellers  got  full  and  would  n't  fall 
into  line,  an'  John  locked  'ein  up  in  the  guard  house. 
But  I  noticed  that  when  you  got  ready  ter  talk,  they  fell 
in  love  with  John  wus  'n  you  did.  If  John  was  here  ter 
tell  'em  ter  go  now,  they  7d  go,  Digory  or  no  Digory.  I 
liked  John,  but  I  never  said  much  in  his  favor  'afore. 
How  mighty  clever  'tis  ter  praise  a  man  arter  he's  dead. 
It  don't  cost  anything  then,  not  even  condescension,  as 
the  parson  says,  and  you  needn't  be  afraid  he '11  come 
round  the  next  day  ter  borrer  money  on  ye.  There '  s  many 
a  man  starved  ter  death  ter-day  for  want  of  half  the 
money  it  takes  ter  buy  him  a  monerment  ter-morrer. 
The  man  they  mortalize  ter  day  is  giner'ly  the  feller 
they  kicked  off  the  doorstep  yesterday.  These  women 
folks  don't  think  I  know  anything  lately,  but  John  knew 
it  all.  If  I  didn't  think  he  was  the  best  man  in  the 
colony  I'd  er  been  jealous  afore  this.  Poor  John!  I 
don't  keer  much  fer  the  men  giner'ly.  They  allers  seemed 
ter  think  Digory  was  a  hull  arsenal  of  hisself,  didn't 
never  need  any  help;  not  even  a  soft  word  could  they  give 
me.  The  young  men  allers  looked  as  if  they  thought  I 's 
a  goin'  ter  bite  'em,  an'  the  old  men  was  perlite,  but  as 
cold  as  Jenerwary.  They  never  offered  to  do  anything 
for  me.  Didn't  they  think  I  never  needed  anything 
done?  Couldn't  they  see  when  you  were  all  down  with 
the  measles,  mother  and  all,  that  I  needed  help  ?  Must  a 
man  cry  like  a  woman  ter  make  his  sorrers  known  ter  his 
neighbors?  What 's  the  use  er  bein'  a  man  if  ye  've  got 
ter  act  like  a  woman  ?  I  never  held  spite  ag'  in  anybody 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  189 

but  an  Injun,  an'  I  wouldn't  let  him  starve,  nor  suffer 
much,  when  he  wan't  in  fi'tin'  trim.  If  I  meet  a  strange 
dorg  I  look  ter  see  if  he  bellies  out,  an'  if  he  don't,  I 
know  what 's  the  matter.  I  give  him  half  my  dinner. 
S'pose  I  'd  er  waited  fer  the  dog  ter  cry,  er  ter  tell  me  what 
ailded  him,  what  'ud  become  'er  the  dorg?  Poor  John! 
He  come  ter  me  an'  cut  my  wood,  an'  did  my  chores  fer 
me,  an'  let  me  nurse  my  sick  ones,  an'  he  wan't  half 
grown  then ;  an'  you  wan't  nothin'  to  him  then  Sue,  you 
hadn't  got  out  er  short  clothes.  There  Wan't  anything 
selfish  'bout  that.  Talk  about  yer  Christian  charity. 
'Twas  born  in  that  ar  feller.  He  didn't  need  religion; 
'twould  be  wastin'  piety  ter  feed  it  ter  him.  Oh,  my! 
what  'ud  the  planters  say  ter  see  old  Digory  wipin'  his 
eyes  ?  Oh,  my!  I  must  either  cry  or  swear.  I  say,  Sue, 
you  mustn't  cry  so.  Mebbe  John '11  turn  up  yet.  I'd 
tell  you  if  I  darst  to,  but  I  darsn't.  I  had  a  dream,  but 
I  don't  b'lieve  in  dreams.  I  tell  ye,  Susan,  he  may  turn 
up  yet,  stranger  things  have  happened.  An'  even  if  he 
don't,  it's  sun  thin'  to  have  such  a  man  solid  here,  dead 
or  alive,  solid  in  the  heart  here.  If  I  was  a  gal  I'd 
rather  feed  my  memory  on  such  a  man,  and  know  that  he 
was  mine,  than  ter  have  any  other  livin'  man  on  top  er 
the  turf.  It's  sunthin',  Sue,  to  know  yer  had  such  a 
man,  an'  who  knows  but  yer  may  have  him  agin.  I 
darsn't  say  jest  what  I  think,  jest  what  I  saw  in  my 
dream  I  mean.  I  don't  b'lieve  in  dreams.  But  s'pose 
he  's  dead.  Somehow  I  think  the  dead  ones  still  walk 
with  us  through  life,  an'  when  we  do  right  they  smile  on 


IQO  DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM. 

us,  an'  when  we  do  wrong  they  chide  us.  Their  language 
is  mighty  onsartin,  but  sometimes  I  think  I  kin  tell  it.  I 
darsn't  tell  you  what  I  saw  in  my  dream,  Sue.  It  might 
lift  you  up,  an'  the  fall  'ud  be  tumble.  I  ain't  no 
b'liever  in  ghosts,  Sue;  I  don't  b'lieve  that  story  of  the 
graves  openin'  when  Pilate  killed  the  good  man  of 
Nazareth,  that  we  see  in  the  picter',  an'  I  ain't  no 
Christian.  I  ain't  good  enough ;  an'  I  don't  quite 
swaller  the  redemption  business.  'Pears  like  it  was 
wasted  trouble  ;  but  I  do  b'lieve  in  a  hereafter, — conscious 
I  b'lieve  they  call  it ;  I  know  sunthin'  'bout  that,  I  ken 
somehow  sense  it;  ken  see  it  without  lookin',  an'  feel  it 
without  touchin' ;  an'  all  the  little  I  know,  I  know  by 
these  senses,  an'  if  I  see,  an'  hear,  an'  feel  a  thing,  I  say 
it  is  so,  if  I  am  me. 

"Your  mother  is  dear  to  me,  Sue;  but  Martha's  mother 
never  leaves  her  side,  'less  I'm  mistaken.  I  see  her  in 
my  dreams,  an'  I  see  her  when  I'm  awake.  If  I  try  ter 
see  her  I  can't;  I  can't  make  up  her  pictur  clear.  It's 
blurred,  unsartin,  unsatisfactory;  but  when  it  comes 
unbidden,  asleep  or  awake,  it  is  so  like  her  I  ken  see  the 
partin'  of  her  hair,  the  pupils  an'  color  of  her  eyes,  can 
hear  her  voice  an'  feel  her  breath  upon  my  cheek ;  I  never 
think  er  doin'  wrong  but  I  feel  a  chill,  as  if  a  cold  hand 
was  laid  on  me,  an'  I  stop  short  an'  say :  '  No  yer  don't, 
Digory ; '  but  I  ain't  ghosty,  an'  I  don't  b'lieve  in 
dreams. 

"It's  an  awful  thing  ter  hev  one  prop  arter  another 
drop  out  from  under  ye  arter  yer  begin  ter  git  old. ' ' 


DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM.  19 1 

"There,  that'll  do,  father.  Don't  talk  about  it  any 
more.  It  pains  me  more  than  all  to  see  you  struggle  so 
with  sorrow.  You  men  don't  cry  like  women;  you  seem 
to  writhe  as  if  in  an  extremity  of  mental  torture,  as  if 
some  great  battle  were  going  on  between  the  impulse  and 
the  will,  as  if  the  soul  were  in  a  mortal  struggle  with  its 
earthly  bonds.  It  is  something  so  dreadful  that  between 
sympathy  and  fright  I  forget  my  own  sorrow  in  the  fear- 
ful contemplation  of  it.  But  why  do  you  persist  in 
saying  John  may  yet  be  alive  ?  Can  there  be  room  for 
hope?" 

' '  None,  except  that  may  be  he  was  taken  prisoner,  an' 
in  that  ar  case  I  doubt  if  the  wust  Injuns  dars't  do  more 
than  hold  him.  The  hull  nation  er  Nipnets  know  him, 
an'  while  they  fear  him  as  a  warrior,  they  respect  him. 
They  e'en-a-most  worship  him.  An'  these  Injuns  are 
turrible  superstitious ;  they  '  magine  that  some  men  are 
more  than  human  ;  that  they  are  links  in  the  chain  that 
connects  the  Great  Spirit  with  us  mortals.  An'  besides, 
wicked  and  treacherous  as  they  may  be,  they  are  yet  open 
to  a  sense  of  generosity  in  at  least  one  direction. 

"A  great  warrior  allus  commands  their  respect,  even 
if  he  be  an  enemy.  Them  savages  took  Cap'n  John  ter 
be  the  greatest  warrior  livin'.  Eph  Curtis  was  allus  a 
terror  to  'em,  but  he  had  ter  take  a  back  seat  fer  John. 

"  He  was  dignified,  but  simple  in  his  habits;  bold,  but 
yet  as  kind  as  a  kitten.  He  bewildered  them  Injuns  by 
his  contradictions  in  character.  He  was  an  Injun  puzzle. 

"An'  that  ar  old  squaw:  I  think  she's  half  sister  ter 


192  DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM. 

the  devil,  but  she  liked  John  ;  allus  called  him  her  boy ; 
an'  I  tell  ye  if  she  says  no,  there  ain't  an  Injun  short  o' 
forty  mile  dars't  go  contr'y.  But  we  was  talkin'  'bout 
leavin' ;  what  do  you  say  to  't  ?  Will  yer  go  ?" 

' '  By  all  means.  But  how  can  we  go  except  under 
your  escort  ?' ' 

"I  forgot  that,  gal.  Well,  I  '11  be  ready  ag'in  Thurs- 
day. Tell  the  women  folks  ter  klect  their  fixins. 
Martha  '11  want  ter  p'rade  when  she  gits  ter  Marlborough. 
But  mind  ye,  I  won't  promise  ter  stay.  I  don't  fear 
them  critters,  but  women  don't  make  good  Injun  fight- 
ers. ' ' 

And  kissing  his  pretty  daughter,  first  on  one  cheek  and 
then  on  the  other,  and  with  his  horny  hand  under  her 
chin,  turning  up  her  tearful  face  to  his,  he  said: 

"I  doubt  me  if  John  is  dead,  Sue,  arter  all.  Or  if  he 
is  what  men  call  dead,  he  still  lives.  Queer,  ain't  it,  for 
such  an  old  infidel  as  I  am  ter  say  it?  I  don't  ree'ly 
b'lieve  he  's  dead,  but  I  don't  b'lieve  in  dreams." 

And  so  Susan  and  the  rough  old  pioneer  parted.  Susan 
to  tell  of  the  happy  decision,  Digory  to  fulfill  his  promise. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   DELIVERANCE. 

THE  work  of  destruction,  so  far  as  was  known  to  the 
Northmen,  was  now  complete,  and  the  allies,  having 
glutted  their  appetite  for  rapine,  and  despairing  of  further 
slaughter  in  that  particular  locality,  gave  little  heed  to 
the  probability  of  outstanding  domiciles.  They  heard  of 
Packachoag  and  of  Sagatabscot,  but  presumably  the  resi- 
dent families  were  with  the  retreating  party,  in  which 
case  all  that  could  be  hoped  for  was  a  bootless  bonfire. 

But  there  was  one  being  in  Washakim  war  paint  who 
knew  to  the  contrary,  and  no  one  short  of  a  practiced 
detective  would  have  even  guessed,  while  he  held  his 
tongue,  that  he  was  not  born  to  the  woods.  To  be  sure 
there  was  the  slightest  indication  to  a  wave  in  his  jet 
black  hair,  but  there  were  other  young  warriors  of  mixed 
race.  The  noticeable  feature,  if  there  was  any  such,  was 
that  the  blue  eye  had  not  the  dull  brownish  cast  of  the 
half  breed.  That  young  warrior,  now  within  the  forests 
of  Washakim,  whither  Tehuanto  and  his  fighting  men 
had  retired  after  wiping  out  the  settlement,  was  urging 
his  chief  to  send  a  band  to  Sagatabscot  to  put  Sergent 
out  of  harm's  way. 

The  Washakim  chief  had  already  been  instigated  and 
13 


194  DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM. 

aided  to  insure  the  quiescence  of  two  important  persons, 
and  that  should  have  made  it  easy  to  effect  his  long  kept 
purpose  to  destroy  another.  But  the  prompter  was  alien  to 
the  soil  and  that  fact  kept  constantly  alive  in  the  mind  of 
the  chief  a  suspicion  of  duplicity,  of  lurking  treachery. 
And  again,  he  was  superstitious.  He  dreaded  the  effect 
of  what  he  had  already  accomplished;  not  for  any  aversion 
to  bloodshed,  but  suppose  Philip  should,  upon  the  ground 
of  some  treaty-making  with  the  whites,  or  other  pretext, 
withdraw,  and  the  allies  from  the  Ontario  country  should 
tire  of  an  expedition  that  rewarded  them  with  neither 
cloth  nor  scalps — the  only  two  things,  in  their  estimation, 
worthy  of  so  much  painstaking  and  actual  loss  in  num- 
bers— and  should  double  on  the  in  trail  ? 

And  had  not  the  old  squaw,  whose  footstep  was  in 
every  wigwam,  whose  right  of  presence  was  everywhere 
recognized,  and  whose  powers  of  divination  and  ability  to 
accomplish  ends  by  means  unnatural  were  everywhere 
acknowledged,  had  she  not  pointed  at  him  with  her 
withered  fingers,  and  hissed  between  her  scraggy  teeth — 
"Beware?" 

To  the  frequent,  earnest  solicitations  of  the  pseudo 
Indian,  the  chief  demurred,  and  at  last  flatly  refused  to 
comply.  But,  as  if  in  no  way  desirous  of  hindering  the 
deed,  could  he  escape  the  responsibility,  he  suggested 
that  the  Northmen,  still  at  Tehassit,  were  drunk  with 
fire-water  and  thirsting  for  blood,  and  might  be  in  humor 
to  aid  him  in  his  designs. 

The  Washakim  furnished  him  three  warriors  to  act  as 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  1 95 

sponsors  for  the  good  faith  of  the  stranger,  and  with  these 
he  set  out  for  the  Northmen' scamp,  and  at  midnight  was 
in  the  council  at  Tehassit,  declaring  the  unprotected  con- 
dition of  Sergent,  and  bargaining  with  the  Ontario  chief 
for  the  person  of  a  woman  from  among  the  captives  they 
might  take,  when  the  prisoners  should  arrive  at  the  shores 
of  Ontario.  Once  at  home  in  the  great  northern  forests, 
the  chief  should  give  him  guides  and  a  safe  passport,  with 
or  without  his  prize,  as  he  saw  fit  to  keep  or  abandon 
her,  to  the  lowest  bend  in  the  Merrirnac. 

A  detail  of  four  hundred  warriors  was  ordered  out.  A 
tithe  of  the  number  was  more  than  the  stranger  asked  for, 
but  the  whole  camp  was  in  the  condition  of  beastly 
debauch,  revelling  in  the  rum  they  had  secured  at  the 
burned  plantation,  and  the  chief  relied  upon  a  twelve 
mile  march  to  bring  the  men  down  to  sobriety,  but  when 
such  as  could  stand  at  all  were  fairly  on  their  feet,  it  was 
wisely  determined  to  defer  the  expedition  until  the  follow- 
ing morning,  as  they  were  already  quarrelsome,  and  once 
out  from  under  the  chief's  immediate  supervision  their 
petty  differences  might  lead  to  serious  results. 

That  night  the  casks  of  rum  that  had  been  dragged  by 
the  Indians  on  a  two-wheeled  cart  from  the  settlement, 
were  put  under  a  strong  guard,  but  the  disappointed 
warriors  were  appeased  by  the  promise  of  a  war  dance 
upon  the  next  night  following. 

The  promise  of  a  war  dance  was  an  implied  promise  of 
license  with  the  casks. 

Scarcely  had  the  three  Washakim  warriors,  in  com- 


196  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

pany  with  the  alien,  left  the  Twin  Lakes,  when  Tehuanto 
half  repented  of  not  having  taken  part  in  the  proposed 
expedition.  His  active  mind  and  body,  and  his  innate 
love  of  adventure,  that  had  been  stirred  to  effervescence 
by  the  scenes  of  the  last  few  hours,  conspired  to  produce 
that  mental  intoxication,  the  usual  accompaniment  of  suc- 
cessful exit  from  thrilling  scenes,  and  he  so  burned  for 
its  continuance  that  a  few  hours  of  the  monotony  of  camp 
life  racked  him  with  the  pangs  of  ennui.  Calling  together 
his  warriors  he  ordered  them  to  again  prepare  for  the 
war-path,  and  in  a  brief  hour  he  had  passed  the  swift 
waters  of  the  Upper  Quinnapoxit  and  was  gaining  the 
summit  of  Maiden  Hill,  a  league  north  of  the  burned 
settlement,  on  his  way  to  Tehassit,  having  left  in  camp  a 
guard  of  warriors,  most  of  them  past  the  prime  of  life  and 
unequal  to  a  hurried  march,  and  some  of  them  suffering 
from  wounds. 

Beyond  Maiden  Hill  they  followed  the  valley  to,  and 
over,  the  hill  known  as  Stone  House,  a  rugged,  rock)'  emi- 
nence and  precipice,  and  were  soon  in  the  lodge  of  the 
Tehassits,  outside  of  which  and  along  the  Tehassit 
Brook  lay  the  scattered  line  of  Northmen,  stretched  in 
every  conceivable  attitude  of  rest  or  indolence,  and  buried 
in  the  loathsome  stupor  of  alcoholic  paralysis.  Only  the 
chief  and  a  dozen  warriors  had  abstained,  and  they  had 
already  been  compelled  to  relieve  the  besotted  guard  at 
the  rum  casks.  The  Washakim  warriors  were  either  less 
inclined  to  its  free  use  from  having  a  more  intimate 
knowledge  of  its  effects,  or  were  in  dread  of  kindling  the 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  197 

ire  of  Tehuanto,  whose  word  was  law,  and  whose  toma- 
hawk was  its  sudden  and  ruthless  executor. 

Half  the  night  was  passed  in  council.  Tehuanto  urged 
that  twenty  warriors  was  an  ample  force  with  which  to 
attempt  the  dislodgment  of  Sergent  and  the  capture  of 
the  women.  To  beset  him  with  a  larger  body  would 
savor  of  cowardice.  He,  for  one,  would  hang  his  head 
in  shame  to  summon  the  sturdy  old  white  warrior  to 
surrender  to  a  force  exceeding  a  score.  He  knew  old 
Digory.  He  was  a  great  warrior  ;  a  warrior  who  had  a 
dozen  Indian  scalps  hung  up  in  the  spirit  land,  although 
he  never  took  one.  A  brave  man  was  old  Digory.  He 
would  like  his  scalp,  but  he  must  take  it  in  true  warrior 
style,  either  when  he  was  asleep,  or  in  something  like 
equal  combat.  If  twenty  warriors  could  not  take 
Digory 's  scalp,  more  ought  not  to. 

The  decision  was,  however,  adverse  to  the  Washakim's 
pleading,  and  four  hundred  men  must  go  on  the  errand, 
while  the  spurious  Indian  would  act  as  their  guide.  The 
four  hundred  must  go,  because  that  number  needed  the 
exercise  to  work  off  the  effects  of  the  debauch  and  pre- 
pare them  for  the  promised  next  night's  carousal, — the  war 
dance.  The  Northmen  had  come  a  long  path  and  had  no 
booty  to  carry  back  ;  nothing  save  a  dozen  or  two  of  scalps 
taken  at  Brookfield  and  Lancaster.  A  meagre  compensa- 
tion for  a  whole  moon  of  filing  over  pathless  mountains, 
and  through  tangled  swamps.  They  must  at  least  make 
the  most  of  what  enjoyment  was  attainable  within  the 
twenty  hours  or  more  before  they  took  the  trail  to  Canada. 


198  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

So  said  the  Ontario  chief,  and  Tehuanto  decided  to 
merely  accompany  them  but  to  take  no  active  part.  The 
mock  Indian  was  to  guide  the  party  to  Sagatabscot,  and 
was  to  direct  in  the  disposition  to  be  made  of  the  captives 
until  such  time  as  all  were  back  again  in  Tehassit  and 
again  under  the  guidance  of  the  northern  chief. 

And  while  the  party  are  doing  the  bidding  of  their 
unscrupulous  guide  and  director,  we  will  pass  over  to  the 
Twin  Lakes. 

The  Washakim  warriors,  all  their  best  fighting  men, 
had  accompanied  the  leaderless,  unorganized  band  that 
had  been  collected  by  King  Philip's  agents,  acting  under 
his  general  orders,  the  immediate  purpose  of  which  was 
not  real  war,  but  a  feint  to  try  the  temper  of  the  allies 
and  to  involve  them  in  an  inextricable  mesh  of  mischief 
done  the  whites,  that  should  render  peace  thereafter  next 
to  impossible.  And  so  far  his  scheme  seemed  to  have 
thriven,  to  meet  his  most  sanguine  expectations  or  hopes. 
Actual  war;  merciless  war;  war  to  the  knife;  such  as 
Philip  had  determined  upon  as  an  ultimatum;  a  war  of 
extermination  that  was  to  admit  of  no  parley,  no  capitula- 
tion, no  possible  peace,  was  yet  sleeping  in  embryo,  and 
what  had  already  been  done, — the  ruin  and  slaughter  at 
Springfield,  at  Deerfield,  Mendon,  Brookfield,  Lancaster, 
and  the  plantation  of  Quinsigamond,  was  like  the  purpose- 
less movement  of  incipient  life.  Philip  had  but  touched 
here  and  there  a  key;  had  run  the  gamut  to  find  if  the  in- 
strument was  in  tune.  It  mattered  little  to  him  whether 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  199 

these  settlements  were  in  or  out  of  existence  afpresent; 
it  mattered  much  to  him  whether  the  whole  Nipnet 
nation  would  or  would  not  commit  the  unpardonable  sin 
of  breaking  a  truce  without  due  notice.  If  they  could  be 
brought  to  do  it  at  his  instigation,  they  were  sealed  to 
him  and  his  purposes  past  all  redemption,  and  when  the 
final  trial  of  strength  should  come  they  need  give  no 
quarter  for  they  could  expect  none. 

Nor  had  the  Nipnets  alone  been  entrapped  by  the  great 
sachem.  The  Pequots  in  a  measure,  enough  to  bind 
the  tribe,  the  Nashuas,  the  Penobscots,  and  tribes  from 
as  far  north  as  Canada,  had  sent  squads  sufficient  to 
implicate  the  several  of  petty  clans,  while  the  warlike 
Mohawks  sent  declarations  of  hostility  in  favor  of  Philip 
directly  to  the  whites,  and  some  of  them  were  present  at 
all  the  recently  committed  atrocities. 

Nothing  now  remained  for  Philip  but  to  let  what  had 
already  been  done  rankle  in  the  bosoms  of  the  enemy 
until,  in  their  indignation,  they  should  attempt  retaliation; 
and  this  they  were  likely  to  undertake  by  separating 
their  forces  and  sending  detachments  to  the  nests  of  such 
tribes  as  had  broken  faith.  And  in  all  the  country  there 
were  but  three  or  four  correct  examples.  Prominent 
among  those  who  failed  to  respond  to  the  great  chief's 
summons  were  the  Pegans  on  the  south,  the  Packachoags 
and  the  Quinsigamouds,  and  for  their  treason. — for  it 
deserves  no  softer  name  when  men  desert  their  kind  in 
race  and  blood  to  give  aid  and  comfort  to  a  hostile 
stranger,  whether  the  delinquent  be  called  Sagamore  John 


200  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

of  Packachoag,  or  Uncas  of  the  lower  Thames;  for  their 
treason  they  were  already  billeted  by  the  red  king  for 
the  spirit  land,  when  time  and  circumstances  should 
ripen  his  scheme  for  execution.  And  the  Wigwam  Hill 
Indians,  as  being  first  to  break  the  bond  of  confedera- 
tion, must  lead  the  way.  It  mattered  not  that  they  had 
been  feted  and  feasted  and  pampered  by  the  other  race. 
They  were  parting  with  their  birthright  for  pottage,  and 
selling  a  nation  for  the  song  of  a  siren.  Hoorawannonit, 
Uncas,  and  Arnold,  are  synonymous  for  treason,  while 
Philip  and  Squanto  were  the  Tells  and  Douglass'  of 
barbarism.1 

But  Philip  was  too  wary,  too  politic  to  appear  even  to 
observe,  at  present,  their  disaffection  to  his  cause.  He 
would  not  hint  at  displeasure  while  an  Indian  with  cause 
might  make  an  enemy  to  fight.  He  made  no  such  mis- 
takes. 

Let  us  turn  back  to  look  over  and  about  the  Twin 
Lakes  and  see  what  the  squaws  and  warriors  Tehuanto 
left  at  Washakim  were  doing  at  this  time. 

In  the  forest  at  the  south  end  of  the  west  lake  the  curl- 
ing smoke  above  the  tree  tops  indicated  wigwam  fires 
beneath.  There  were  thirty  birch  tents — only  thirty,  for 
the  tribe  lived  in  families,  cliques  or  little  neighborhoods, 

1  If  ever  a  hero  were  deserving  of  an  enduring  monument  to  his 
memory,  that  man  is  King  Philip  of  Mount  Hope,  for  however 
valid  Boston's  plea  for  inciting  homicide  in  self-defense,  she 
owes  it  to  the  grandest  type  of  patriot  heroism  in  the  annals  of 
aboriginal  America. 


DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM.  2OI 

mostly  on  the  borders  of  the  two  lakes  but  separated  as 
fancied  convenience,  taste  or  inclination  might  induce 
them  to  adopt  locations. 

In  this  settlement  at  the  south  end  of  the  west  lake  the 
squaws  seemed  occupied,  some  attending  papooses,  some 
carrying  water  from  the  lake,  and  some  were  bending 
over  a  fire  where  green  spits  were  placed  in  the  ground  so 
as  to  lean  over  beds  of  hot  coals.  They  were  evidently 
broiling  fish  and  preparing  a  meal,  for  on  the  ends  of  the 
spits  were  trout,  dangling,  and  some  still  alive,  or  drip- 
ping their  savory  fat  in  sputtering  drops  upon  the  fervent 
coals. 

L,ounging  about  on  blankets,  skins,  and  on  the  bare 
ground  were  warriors, — warriors  of  fifty  years,  some 
more,  some  less,  and  all,  excepting  a  few  wounded,  were 
still,  in  a  degree,  able  bodied  men. 

And  there  were  boys  there;  boys  of  six  years,  up  to 
sixteen,  with  bows  and  arrows,  and  fishing  tackle,  as 
spears  of  sharpened  bone,  bone  hooks  and  sinew  lines, 
nooses  made  of  sinews  and  attached  to  poles  were  scattered 
over  the  ground  as  they  had  been  dropped  by  boys 
fatigued  with  play,  or  by  some  tired  fisherman. 

But  those  lolling  Indians.  L,ook  at  them!  Nothing 
in  nature  can  exceed  in  pure  expression  of  absolute  lazi- 
ness the  Indian  warrior  off  duty  and  at  rest.  The  same, 
always  and  everywhere,  from  the  Aroostook  to  the 
Rockies.  Sleep  is  nothing  to  it.  Good,  sound  sleep  has 
an  air  of  business  about  it.  It  is  a  process  of  recuper- 
ation; a  cause  in  the  active  development  of  an  effect;  a 


202  DOOM    OF    WASHAKIM. 

quiescence  with  a  purpose.  But  the  American  savage  at 
rest  is  an  incarnate  yawn;  a  type  of  the  utter  disuse  of 
every  faculty  but  that  of  drawing  breath,  and  even  that 
he  would  gladly  omit  if  it  cost  him  an  effort.  He  can't 
even  afford  to  dream,  as  he  lies  there  upon  the  flat  of  his 
back,  under  an  unobstructed  broiling  sunlight,  with 
mouth  wide  open,  where  flies  and  grasshoppers  undis- 
turbed may  congregate  and  hold  high  revel.  But  like 
his  wary  neighbor,  the  fox,  every  sense,  though  in  no 
way  alert,  is  so  intensely  acute  that  no  sound  that  even 
a  hunted  squirrel  might  detect  fails  of  instant  recognition 
by  the  ear,  and  with  the  slightest  real  occasion  for  activ- 
ity he  springs  to  his  feet  with  the  agility  of  a  wild  cat,  all 
nerve,  all  action,  all  intensity. 

But  the  occasion  for  activity  was  wanting,  or  so  com- 
pletely masked  that  no  sound  nor  token  was  distinguish- 
able. And  yet,  while  twenty  warriors,  scarcely  out  of 
their  prime,  lay  indolently  whiling  the  hours  away,  five 
pairs  of  sharp,  black  eyes  glared  upon  them  from  within 
half  a  bow  shot  distance,  and  five  hatchets  only  waited 
discovery  to  dart  like  teased  rattlesnakes  upon  their 
unsuspecting  prey. 

Once  or  twice  the  boys  started  up,  half  erect,  listened  a 
moment,  and  relapsed,  in  imitation  of  their  elders,  into 
sleep  again.  All  was  in  the  most  perfect  hush  of  silence. 
The  squaws  even,  satisfied  that  the  fish  were  doing  well, 
lost  themselves  in  a  dreamy  stupor. 

But  one  thing  only  seemed  alive,  and  that  uot;half  so. 
The  old  squaw  sorceress  of  Quinsigamond  was  there, 


DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM.  203 

leaning  with  her  back  against  a  chestnut,  motionless  as 
seemed  the  earth  she  stood  upon,  saving  that  her  dark, 
wild  eyes  rolled  restless  in  their  sockets,  peering  into  the 
hazel  thicket  close  at  hand  upon  the  west. 

Something  in  the  rear  of  the  wigwams,  a  shapeless 
mass  of  brownish  yellow,  scarcely  distinguishable  from 
the  dead  wire  grass  upon  which  it  lay,  something  movable 
and  moving,  leaves  the  thicket,  and  by  some  undiscern- 
ible  impulse,  some  occult  power  of  locomotion,  makes 
its  way  snail-like  toward  the  great  birch  tent,  the  nearest 
wigwam  in  the  circle.  The  old  squaw's  eye  is  upon  it, 
glaring  with  all  the  pent  up  fury  of  a  disturbed  rattler; 
watching  it  with  feline  intensity;  yet  not  a  muscle  of  her 
wrinkled,  withered  old  face,  not  a  movement  of  her  rigid 
form  gives  token  of  interest.  It  is  simply  statuary  venom 
sculptured  in  breathing  inertia.  It  almost  takes  one's 
breath  away  to  see  this  bunch  of  dried  grass  at  her  feet, 
and  upon  which  her  glistening  eyes  are  bent  and  staring, 
take  on  such  dubious  phases  of  animation,  where  all  the 
semblance  of  life  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  is  now  two  feet 
nearer  the  wigwam  than  it  was  two  minutes  ago. 

And  now  that  we,  being  in  the  instance  out  of  the 
visible  form,  may  move  in  the  muffled  footsteps  of  imagi- 
gination  without  arousing  the  supine  braves,  let  us  glide 
to  the  rear  where  we  may  observe,  unobserved,  the  thing 
that  moves  without  limbs,  that  stirs  without  life.  Is  she 
really  a  witch,  this  crooked,  old,  red  beldam  in  the  deer- 
skin smock,  naked  limbs  and  moccasined  feet?  Is  she  so 
far  mistress  of  occultism  that  she  can  at  will  displace 


204  DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM. 

realities  and  substitute  a  compound  of  the  invisible 
essences  of  things  in  semblance  of  material  actualities  ? 
Witch,  conjurer  or  devil — she  not  only  seems  to  impart 
life  to  the  inanimate  but  to  guide  its  movements,  and  that 
without  word,  sign  or  token. 

The  mass,  still  shapless,  is  now  half  erect,  and  by  some 
unseen  movement  or  device  has  opened  a  long  gash  in 
the  birch  wall  of  the  tent,  and  through  the  aperture  has 
vanished — not  vanished — only  half  of  its  bulk  has  passed 
into  nothingness,  or  through  the  slit,  while  half  remains 
outside,  a  thin,  flat  sheet  of  sunbrowned  wire  grass,  so 
light  the  summer  breeze  might  curvet  with  it  in  playful 
dalliance. 

But  hark!  That  yell!  That  unearthly  screech,  such  as 
only  a  practiced  Indian's  throat  can  utter,  and  such  as  it 
utters  only  when  all  the  sanguinary  devilishness  of  his 
wild  being  is  in  the  ascendant.  And  the  whoop  is  echoed 
by  a  chorus  of  voices  which,  to  the  ears  of  a  lounging 
warrior,  means  nothing  less  than  scalps.  It  served  to 
string  every  fibre  of  the  loungers'  systems,  and  with  a 
bound  every  brave,  with  ready  tomahawk,  stands  upon 
the  defensive. 

Toward  the  lake  is,  or  was,  an  open  flat  of  green- 
sward, no  place  for  concealment,  no  possibility  of  an 
ambush,  and  there  by  the  lake  shore  stood  a  trio  of 
warriors  in  Quinsigamond  war  paint  and  wampum;  stood 
brandishing  their  tomahawks,  and  by  their  gestures 
daring  the  veterans  to  come  out  of  camp. 

With  a  certainty  that  all  was  as  it  seemed,  it  would 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  205 

have  required  no  second  summons  from  a  trio  of  madmen 
to  call  the  Washakims  out,  but  as  it  was,  they  had  no 
intention  of  hazarding  what  might  prove  an  unequal 
assault,  to  punish  an  insult.  They  were  too  cautious; 
something  more  serious  than  whoops,  menaces  or  defiance 
must  be  offered  to  induce  an  action,  but  they  moved 
down  to  reconnoitre.  The  ruse  had  answered  the  object 
of  the  design.  The  Washakims  had  halved  the  space 
between  the  tents  and  where  the  strangers  stood  when 
another  peal  from  one  of  those  rawhide  throats  broke  out 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  camp  and  set  the  squaws  and 
children,  all  but  the  old  squaw,  flying  like  frightened 
partridges,  each  for  a  hiding  in  some  thicket. 

Has  she,  the  old  squaw,  wrought  a  miracle?  or  how 
came  three  warriors,  one  of  them  a  white  man,  stepping 
through  the  slit  in  the  wigwam  ? 

The  now  cut  cords  of  rawhide  have  brought  blood  to 
the  wrists  since  last  they  drew  rein  on  Pompey,  and  one 
chiefs  face  will  make  old  Wigwan  burn  with  delight — if 
it  ever  gets  there. 

As  the  last  menace,  the  war  whoop  from  the  camp,  broke 
upon  the  startled  ears  of  the  little  garrison  it  seemed  more 
like  real  business,  and  the  warriors  caught  at  the  idea 
that  they  were  ambuscaded.  No  time  was  to  be  lost  in 
making  their  way  back  to  the  circle  of  wigwams,  where 
they  might  better  act  on  the  defensive. 

But  all  is  quiet  again;  no  sight,  no  sound  of  an  enemy 
in  or  about  the  lodge.  If  any  have  been  there  neither 


206  DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM. 

squaws  nor  children  have  seen  them.  They  heard  the 
whoop — they  ran  and  hid — no  more. 

Wonder  began  now  to  displace  a  warrior's  usual 
impulses  and  anticipations.  Even  the  three  strangers  by 
the  lake  were  gone,  up,  or  down,  no  one  knew  whither, 
no  one  had  seen  them  cross  the  lawn.  They  had  dis- 
appeared as  mysteriously  as  they  came.  The  Washakims 
could  look  far  into  the  forest  except  in  the  line  of  the 
hazel  thicket,  but  they  were  not  there.  That  had  been 
probed.  No  soul  was  in  sight  except  the  old  sorceress. 
She  stood  leaning  against  a  chestnut  tree  fast  asleep;  and 
deeper  became  the  mystery  when  one  warrior  espied  the 
bunch  of  dried  grass  curiously  plaited.  It  was  merely 
grass  without  shape  or  form  and  with  nothing  to  indicate 
a  use  or  design,  and  yet  it  had  a  meaning, — it  had  been 
subjected  to  the  manipulations  of  art.  But  now  it  is  all 
out  clear  as  daylight, — the  slit  in  the  tent  wall,  the  cut 
thongs,  the  vacant  wigwam.  Two  prisoners  have  escaped. 
A  white  man  and  a  red,  and  they  the  two  greatest 
warriors  in  all  the  Nipnet  country.  Two  doughty  chiefs 
as  ever  threw  a  tomahawk  or  cast  an  eye  along  an  iron 
barrel  are  free  to  contrive  and  execute  vengeance  upon 
Washakim.  You  may  hunt  for  them  but  you  will  never 
find  them. 

The  old  squaw  sleeps  on  through  all  your  vexation. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

c 

THE   COUNCIL   AT  SAGATABSCOT. 

IN  the  settlement  of  Marlborough  great  indignation 
was  expressed  at  the  obduracy  of  Sergent  in  remaining 
with  his  family  at  the  plantation  in  spite  of  the  many 
warnings  and  heedless  of  the  terrible  danger  that 
encompassed  them.  Marlborough  people  said  it  was 
worse  than  foolhardiness;  said  it  was  a  vain  attempt  to 
vaunt  his  courage;  that  his  declared  determination  to 
remain  was  an  inexcusable  piece  of  bombast,  unworthy  of 
a  man  of  his  acknowledged  sense,  and  without  delay 
they  called  an  indignation  meeting  at  which,  after  a  hasty 
consideration,  it  was  decided  to  send  a  detachment  of 
soldiers  to  Sergent' s  house  and  bring  himself  and  family  to 
Marlborough  whether  he  would  or  no. 

The  pastor,  Meekman,  on  whose  motion  the  vote  had 
been  taken  to  perform  what  was  at  best  a  disagreeable 
task,  not  to  say  a  dangerous  one,  now  the  Indians  were 
in  full  possession,  volunteered  to  place  himself  in  the 
ranks  as  one  of  the  twelve  men  to  perform  the  duty,  and 
as  the  remaining  eleven  positions  were  quickly  filled,  the 
list  being  headed  by  Ephraim  Curtis  and  Jim  Pyke,  a 
choice  of  commanding  officer  was  in  order,  and  by  a  vote 
of  the  squad  Curtis  was  named. 


208  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

The  following  day,  Thursday,  was  fixed  upon  to  put 
the  scheme  in  execution,  to  remove  the  family,  and  to 
place  Sergent  under  arrest  should  he  prove  in  any  sort 
contumacious.  They  should  not  have  waited  for  the 
morrow,  but  the  way  was  unbeaten  and  blind,  and  an 
ambush  was  believed  to  be  imminent. 

It  was  Wednesday,  the  day  of  the  meeting  in  Marl- 
borough,  that  a  party  of  seven  warriors  set  out  from  the 
south  border  of  Washakim  forests,  where  the  Quinna- 
poxit  (now  the  Nashua  River)  skirts  the  upper  intervale. 

Five  of  this  party  were  the  picked  men  of  the  tribe  of 
Quinsigamond  and  had  been  from  Wigwam  Hill  on  duty  as 
scouts  fora  fortnight,  subsisting  upon  raw  flesh,  roots,  and 
such  low  growing  berries  as  ripen  in  the  later  spring 
months.  But  they  were  accustomed  to  spare  diet  and 
uncooked  food  when  circumstances  made  it  hazardous  to 
induce  a  column  of  smoke,  and  could  readily  abstain 
altogether  from  food  or  other  nourishment  than  water,  if 
need  be,  for  a  week  at  a  time,  with  no  visible  effect  upon 
their  constitutions,  so  much  does  discreet  practice  of  priva- 
tion inure  one  to  endurance. 

The  sixth  one  of  the  party,  as  is  already  surmised,  was 
the  chief,  Wandee,  while  the  seventh  was  a  painted 
warrior,  fully  armed  and  accoutred  as  an  Indian  except 
that  he  carried  a  rifle  and  left  the  trail  of  a  white  man. 

The  one  thing  belonging  to  an  Indian  that  a  white 
man  could  never  fairly  counterfeit  was  his  trail.  He 
might  learn  to  take  fifty  consecutive  steps  in  true  aborigi- 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  209 

nal  form,  and  the  fifty-first  would  betray  the  pseudo 
savage.  When  he  stood  he  looked  the  Indian,  saving 
perhaps  he  was  too  erect.  A  perpendicular  line  from  the 
top  of  any  Indian's  head  would  fall  outside  and  in  front 
of  his  body,  and  this  peculiarity  is  still  more  noticeable 
in  the  lope,  the  Indian's  favorite  mode  of  locomotion,  for 
where  a  white  man  leans  forward,  the  savage  crouches, 
runs  low  down.  Again,  his  shoulders  are  rarely  if  ever 
square,  nor  well  set  back,  giving  prominence  to  the  chest, 
for,  however  well  made  up,  his  whole  appearance  is 
slouchy.  Lastly,  for  a  difference  in  this  case,  the  eyes 
were  off  color. 

We  first  saw  this  party  rising  Maiden  Hill.  Having  left 
the  Quinnapoxit  River  they  crossed  its  tributary,  Tide 
Brook,  over  Winter  Hill,  and  down  the  divide  between 
Winter  and  Stonehouse  Hill  to  the  junction  of  the  streams 
Beaver  and  Tehassit  (now  Tatnuck  Brook),  fording  the 
Packachoag  or  Half  Way  River,  passing  under  the  hill, 
by  the  river  to  its  junction  with  the  Bimelick,  and  cross- 
ing to  Sagatabscot  Hill. 

This  long,  circuitous  route  was  chosen  by  advice  of  the 
scouts,  who  had  learned  through  a  strolling  Indian  that 
an  immense  cordon  of  Indians  were  closing  in  upon 
Wigwam  Hill,  having  been  posted  that  morning  by  the 
Ontario  chief  at  the  request  of  Tehuanto,  who  saw  his 
opportunity  to  crush  the  hated  Quinsigamonds  by  sheer 
force  of  numbers. 

The  line  of  pickets  posted  this  Wednesday  numbered 
two  hundred,  and  was,  on  the  following  Friday,  aug- 


210  DOOM    OF    WASHAKIM. 

merited  by  the  four  hundred  who  had  been  detailed  to 
capture  or  kill  Sergent  and  family  in  the  meantime.  The 
line  extended  from  the  north  end  of  the  lake  to  Weasel 
Brook,  thence  south  four  miles  to  the  Packachoag,  under 
the  brow  of  the  hill.  By  the  route  the  seven  scouts  and 
fugitives  had  taken  they  had  crossed  an  immense  trail 
and  had  heard  in  the  distance  sounds  of  hilarity,  a  thing 
unusual  and  unaccountable,  as  the  Hill  Indians  had  no 
conception  as  to  the  cause.  The  trail  was  evidently  made 
by  mixed  Indians,  as  was  seen  at  many  points  by  the 
difference  in  stride.  The  Northmen  stepped  short, 
straggled,  and  altogether  made  an  awkward  path,  if  that 
can  be  called  a  path  where  the  footsteps  cross  and 
wriggle  from  side  to  side,  much  as  a  herd  of  strange  cattle 
would  do,  and  altogether  unlike  homing  kine.  Most  of 
the  steps  differed  entirely  from  the  sweeping  stride  of  the 
Nipnets  and  their  southern  neighbors  the  Narragansetts 
and  Pequods. 

Passing  the  summit  of  Sagatabscot  Hill  the  seven 
came  upon  a  log  house,  half  fort,  half  domicile,  and  in 
front  of  it  Digory  Sergent  at  work  mending  an  ox  yoke 
which  he  must  use  on  the  morrow  in  hauling  his  family 
and  effects  to  Marlborough,  for  it  was  beyond  his  knowl- 
edge that  all  customary  egress  from  his  clearing  had  been 
effectually  cut  off. 

The  surprise,  not  to  say  consternation,  that  fell  upon 
one  of  the  party  as  he  heard  from  Sergent  the  fate  (so  far 
as  he  was  able  to  judge)  of  the  plantation,  was  clearly 


DOOM    OF    WASHAKIM.  211 

visible  under  the  paint  of  the  blue  eyed  warrior,  for  even 
the  scouts  were  not  until  now  aware  of  it, 

They  knew  of  the  cordon,  and  had  suspected  a  siege, 
but  not  recognizing,  from  their  stolen  views,  any  familiar 
faces,  they  had  thought  it  prudent  not  to  reveal  them- 
selves merely  to  gratify  curiosity.  Strolling  Indians  had 
told  them  in  the  morning  of  the  line  of  pickets,  but  had 
said  nothing,  perhaps  knew  nothing,  of  the  burning  of 
the  settlement,  and  such  ignorance  was  quite  accountable 
from  the  fact  that  many  of  these  native  tramps  often  came 
from  great  distances,  and  frequently  in  nearly  direct 
lines,  following  stars  by  night,  and  signs  of  bark  and 
bough  by  day,  collecting  and  dispensing  news  from  tribe 
to  tribe,  and  they  were  quite  too  wary  to  place  themselves 
within  the  power  of  strange  men,  with  strange  paint  and 
wampum,  who  spoke  at  best  an  unintelligible  heathen 
gibberish. 

The  white  man  in  war  paint  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the 
ground,  bent  his  head  and  leaned  upon  his  rifle,  for  a 
moment  dumb  and  apparently  confused,  but  the  six 
Indians  scarcely  seemed  to  listen  to  Sergent's  tale  of  fact 
and  surmises,  or  at  most  treated  it  with  indifference,  and 
yet  not  an  Indian  of  them  but  would  have  fought  to  the 
death  for  that  same  plantation.  Had  they  not  for  several 
of  the  last  days  hazarded  life  every  hour,  gone  cold  by 
night  and  hungry  by  day  to  secure  the  liberty  of  a 
planter  and  the  planter's  friend? 

But  they  were   Indians,   and  how    could   an    Indian 


212  DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM. 

harbor  astonishment  to  a  degree  obvious  in  face  or 
gesture  ? 

By  this  time  Wandee,  whom  the  reader  long  since 
recognized,  was  seated  with  the  scouts  upon  a  log,  list- 
lessly gazing  away  into  space;  thinking,  perhaps,  but 
with  no  facial  tokens  of  thought;  sitting  with  that  stolid, 
changeless  look,  where  expression  was  ever  absent,  absent 
except  in  quick,  desperate  action,  when  ferocity  beamed 
like  lightning  through  a  bank  of  clouds  and  passed  as 
soon. 

Digory,  still  oblivious  to  the  fact  that  the  pseudo 
Indian  was  other  than  a  real  red  warrior  in  Quinsigamond 
war  paint,  and  even  failing,  for  some  unaccountable 
reason,  to  recognize  the  chief  sitting  upon  the  log,  was 
now  beckoned  by  Captain  John  toward  the  door  of  the 
house. 

This  last  act,  at  this  time,  with  war  first  in  his  mind 
and  last  in  his  ears,  was  a  trifle  too  great  a  strain  upon 
Sergent's  hospitality.  He  had  little  dread  of  only  a  few 
Indians  while  his  old  musket  was  by  his  side,  even 
although  this  one  intruder  carried  a  rifle,  for  the  scouts 
had  taken  the  precaution,  partly  at  the  old  squaw's  sug- 
gestion, to  take  one  from  the  Hill,  not  even  guessing 
approximately  the  purpose  for  which  she  had  designed 
it. 

It  was  all  right  with  Digory  so  long  as  the  Indians 
would  keep  together,  and  at  a  respectful  distance  from 
the  house,  but  woe  to  the  red-skin  who  should  venture, 
uninvited,  to  pass  the  invisible  bound,  for  there  was  a 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  213 

limit  to  Digory's  faith  in  Indians,  and  by  a  quick  step  he 
placed  himself  by  the  doorway  and  brought  his  musket, 
rifle,  he  called  it,  to  a  level  with  the  captain's  head,  and 
so  suggested  a  bar  to  progress.  Barred  out,  the  lord  of 
the  Castle  Tavern  that  was,  and  lord  of  a  sweet  life  that 
is  behind  the  walls  of  Digory's  Castle  and  by  that  barri- 
caded door.  But  Sergent's  act  was  well  enough.  It 
was  his  house,  and  the  intruder  was  an  Indian.  Would 
Sergent  fire?  or  would  he  shrink?  He  falls  back 
astounded,  amazed,  scowling  his  fettered  rage,  for  lo! 
the  Angel  of  Sagatabscot,  the  little  blue-eyed  Susan  has 
fallen  forward  and  is  sobbing  aloud  upon  the  brown 
bosom  of  the  make-believe  savage. 

There  are  no  eyes  so  penetrating  as  love.  Suspicion 
and  jealousy  scrutinize,  hate  scowls  contempt,  looks 
askance, — but  love  leaps  in  at  the  eye — takes  possession 
and  occupies. 

Digory  Sergent  was  confounded,  mortified;  confounded 
by  a  sequel  so  unexpected — mortified  at  his  own  stupidity, 
for  he  now  saw  all,  and  realized  his  dull  perception  and 
his  rude  inhospitality.  Dress,  color,  and  every  conceiv- 
able aid  which  Indian  cunning  and  white  man's  art 
could  devise  and  procure  had  all  been  pressed  into  service 
for  safety's  sake,  but  all  together  were  but  webs  of 
gossamer,  transparent  as  dew  to  the  swiftly  divining  eye 
of  love.  And  the  joy  of  that  love  in  the  scene  of  resto- 
ration brooked  no  bounds.  It  was  something  weird, 
strange,  even  awful  in  its  manifestations,  as  one  may 
guess  it  will  be  when  loving  hearts  meet  there,  over 


214  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

beyond,  in  that  border  land.  For  to  Susan,  John  I  say 
was  dead,  and  buried  may  be,  may  be  left  scalpless,  a 
feast  for  wolves  and  foxes,  or  for  that  black  scavenger  of 
earth  and  air.  John  Wing,  the  captain,  the  might  of 
whose  fascination  had  absorbed  the  very  soul  of  this  belle 
of  the  plantation,  was  dead.  Dead  in  every  sense  and 
conception;  and  young  as  she,  the  child  widow  was,  she 
had  even  now  looked  to  the  beyond  for  the  next  meeting. 
And  might  not  this  then  be  that  beyond  ?  Could  she 
trust  her  eyes  to  see  him  living  whom  she  knew,  or 
thought  she  knew,  to  be  in  that  other  life?  She  was 
startled  at  her  own  reflection;  frightened  at  the  thought 
that  this  sweet  scene  might  prove  a  blank  hallucination. 
She  unclasped  his  form  and  sallied  back,  filled  with  some- 
thing akin  to  dread.  Started  back  and  stared,  half 
chiding  herself  for  the  presumption  that  dared  to  fondle 
with  an  apparation.  But  no.  It  was  no  dream,  no  cruel 
phantom  dallying  with  desire,  and  she  might  give  full 
rein  to  rapture. 

Digory,  for  his  incivility  made  ample  amends,  as  virile 
natures  make  amends.  He  shook  hands  with  the  captain, 
clapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  chuckled  over  his  own 
purblindness,  and  charged  his  faulty  vision  to  the  want 
of  his  spectacles.  That  was  plenty  between  two  men, 
however  much  they  love  or  can  love  their  own  sex.  A 
Yankee  is  no  Gaul,  to  embrace  and  kiss  his  man.  He 
reserves  such  excess  of  tenderness  for  more  appropriate 
objects. 

Between  Sergent  and  the  captain  the  purpose  of  the 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  215 

settlers  in  so  abruptly  abandoning  the  settlement,  if  in- 
indeed  they  were  not  murdered  there,  with  the  immediate 
causes  which  led  to  the  determination,  were,  of  course, 
only  matters  of  conjecture.  That  seventy  or  more  able 
bodied  men  should  have  succumbed,  even  to  two  or  three 
hundred  heathens,  was,  to  old  Digory,  inconceivable,  but 
to  the  captain — the  Hill  Indians'  warning,  as  related  by 
Sergent,  coupled  with  discoveries  by  the  divining  eye  of 
Wandee,  who  had  pronounced  the  great  trail  seen  in  the 
morning  as  made  chiefly  by  the  short  men  of  the  north, 
gave  the  clue  not  only  to  the  hasty  abandonment  and  the 
burning  of  the  settlement,  but  also  to  whom  the  six  mile 
line  of  pickets  was  indebted  for  its  numbers. 

To  what  extent  the  settlers  escaped  harm  in  the  catas- 
trophe was  as  much  an  enigma  to  Sergent  as  to  his  guest, 
for  not  an  Indian,  not  even  a  friendly  Packachoag,  had 
cast  his  shadow  on  Digory 's  clearing  since  the  fatal 
night. 

It  had  probably  been  deemed  prudent  by  Sagamore 
John  to  effect  neutrality,  and  however  much  the  old 
chief,  who  had  been  a  leader  in  preaching  of  the  new 
dipensation,  might  have  been  horrified  at  practicing 
ordinary  deception,  he  had  been  no  inapt  pupil  in  border 
politics  and  understood  the  saving  limits  of  diplomacy. 

That  which  most  of  all  puzzled  Sergent  and  the  cap- 
tain, and  for  a  moment  seemed  to  interest  Wandee 
sufiiciently  to  make  him  half  turn  his  head  towards  the 
speakers,  for  he  had  been  an  attentive  listener  to  the 
terms  of  the  conference,  was  the  fact  that  not  a  Hill 


2l6  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

Indian  had  been  on  Sagatabscot,  notwithstanding  that 
they  must  have  known  that  Sergent  had  remained,  as 
not  a  squirrel  could  bark  but  a  Hill  Indian  or  a  praying 
Packachoag  would  hear  it. 

"What  can  be  the  reason,  Sergent,  that  the  Hill 
Indians  have  neglected  to  notify  you  of  what  has 
happened?  They  knew  just  how  you  were  situated.  The 
planters  would  tell  them,  for  more  than  one  Quinsiga- 
mond  has  taken  a  run  to  Marlborough  before  this. ' ' 

"  Possibly,  John,  none  of  the  Hill  Indians  have  been 
to  Marlborough.  Or  it  is  among  the  possibilities  that 
the  planters  themselves  never  left  their  homes  alive." 

"  What  do  you  mean  Sergent  ?  " 

"  Simply  that  we  are  absolutely  in  the  dark.  They 
may  have  been  scalped  in  their  beds.  I  despair  of  ever 
guessing  right  again  about  anything  out  of  gunshot  of  this 
clearing  er  mine. ' ' 

"  And  I  am  as  much  at  sea  as  you.  Wandee,  can  the 
Hill  Indians  have  dug  up  the  hatchet?  Can  they,  after 
all,  have  sided  with  Philip  ?  " 

"Hill  Injun  no  dig  up  hatchet,  you  guess,"  said 
Wandee,  without  turning,  his  sight  still  bent  skyward. 
"King's  men  got  ear;  king's  men  got  eye.  Big  heap 
woods  down  Quinsig.  King's  men  watch.  Hill  Injun 
stay  home.  Him  no  big  fool.  Come  long  way  roun', 
you  guess. ' ' 

"Well,  if  that  is  the  case,"  said  the  captain,  "the 
woods  full  of  Indians,  you  and  I  and  the  five  scouts  stand 
a  poor  chance  of  getting  to  the  Hill  at  present." 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  21 7 

"  No  so  sure.  No  very  bad.  Sky  all  cloud;  see!  No 
moon  now,  watch  two  free  in  place.  King's  men  bad 
watch.  Canadaw  men,  heap  long  way  up.  Do'  know 
woods,  do'  know  lake.  Cap'n  got  good  ear,  hear  'em; 
scouts  got  tomahawk,  git  'em  scalp.  Do'  know,  mebbe." 

"  Well,  Wandee,  I  'm  a  private.  This  is  your  march. 
I  can  risk  scalping  if  you  can." 

"  Me  no  git  scalped.  Me  got  top  side.  Me  know 
Injun  dar;  him  not  know  me  dar.  Me  got  top  side,  me 
keep  'em.  Cap'n  t'row  'way  boots,  get  moccasin.  Dig. 
got  'um." 

"Yes,  John,  the  Injun's  right,  I've  got  a  dozen  pairs  of 
'em.  I  take  my  scalps  from  t'  other  end.  I  never  miss  a 
good  pair  of  moccasins  when  I  shoot  an  Injun." 

At  this  last  remark  of  Sergent's  the  Indians  never 
moved  a  muscle;  no  witness  would  have  supposed  by  any 
obvious  recognition  on  their  part  that  they  either  heard 
or  heeded  it,  except,  perhaps,  as  their  glances  met  a 
suppressed  smile  which  played  for  a  second  about  the  six 
grim  faces.  They  knew  Digory's  record,  and  so  long  as 
he  respected  Quinsigamond  scalps,  the  more  he  took  from 
either  end  of  an  enemy  the  better  they  were  suited. 
Digory  was  a  great  warrior,  and  as  such  they  paid  him 
deference  in  no  stinted  measure. 

It  was  now  nightfall,  and  when  the  darkness  fairly 
settled,  they  must  lose  no  time  in  moving  on,  for  with 
Wigwam  Hill  their  objective  point,  and  that  four  miles 
away  through  an  unbroken  pathway  beset,  perhaps,  by 
little  bands  of  a  watchful  enemy,  their  movements  would 


2l8  DOOM    OF    WASHAKIM. 

necessarily  be  slow,  and  morning,  to  them,  might  come 
too  soon. 

Sergent's  time  for  departure  had  been  fixed  at  ten 
o'clock  the  following  day,  and  his  proposed  route  was 
to  pass  the  south  end  of  the  lake,  leaving  Hassinomissitt 
on  the  right.  Much  of  their  route  would  be  through  a 
heavy  spoonwood  and  hackmatack  thicket,  and  was  little 
likely  to  engage  the  watchful  attention  of  the  Northmen. 

Digory's  first  idea  had  been  to  pass  by  the  old,  wide  trail 
leading  over  the  hills  and  direct  to  Marlborough,  but  a  little 
reflection  satisfied  him  of  its  danger,  and  had  reduced  his 
plan  from  moving  with  wheels,  to  back-loading  his  cattle 
and  beating  a  path. 

Upon  consultation  it  was  arranged  that  the  captain 
should  be  in  waiting  with  an  escort  of  Indians,  below  the 
lake,  at  noon,  and  for  an  hour  they  would  all  proceed  in 
company. 

Wandee,  who  had  apparently  been  engrossed  in  a  cloud 
study,  now  interrupted  the  conversation. 

"Dig  leave  ox  home.  Can't  eat  'em.  First  know, 
beller.  Beller  here,  all  good.  Beller  mile  off,  Injun  all 
'roun'.  Dig  take  squaw,  take  pappoose,  take  squaw  gal. 
Take  no  t'ings.  Keep  hark,  go  low.  Go  fo'  mile.  Den 
head  up — march.  No  want  cap'n;  cap'n  no  good;  Injun 
all  roun'.  No  see  five,  see  six.  Too  much  gib.  Dig's 
scalp  'nuff.  Cap'n  meet  'em  on  road  seven  mile.  Good! 
Big  talk." 

"  What  say  you,  Sergent?"  asked  John;  "  shall  we  use 


DOOM    OF    WASHAKIM. 


our  own  judgment  or  take  advice  of  a  man  born  to  the 
woods?" 

"A  woodsman  for  woodcraft;  I  begin  to  doubt  my 
judgment,  John.  Injun  knows  Injun." 

"  Ah!  Dig  know  some  t'ings.  Dig  old  warrior.  Dig 
meet  Injun,  meet  free,  dem  scout;  meet  t'irty,  dem  war 
party.  Dig  good  for  free.  Meet  t'irty.  Dig  no  good. 
Get  'em  scalp.  Cap'n  John  can't  help  'em.  One  scalp 
'nuff." 

"The  Injun's  right,  John;  one  scalp  is  enough  — 
plenty.  '  ' 

'  '  Ugh  !  Dig  ole  warrior.  Dig  take  big  heap  scalp.  Take 
'em  from  todder  end.  Dig,  me'n  you  count  scalp.  You 
kine  scalp.  Cap'n  John  want  one,  two,  scalp." 

"  Yes,  Wandee,"  answered  Sergent,  "I  came  near  for- 
getting the  moccasins." 

'  '  Ugh  !     Dig  leave  ox  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Dig  leave  f  ings?" 

"Yes." 

"  Dig  tie  up  dog,  gib  all  'way;  no  good;  bark  wrong 
time.  '  ' 

"All  right  Wandee.  Sorry  to  leave  you,  Bose;  Injun 
says  you  talk  too  much." 

The  sun  had  set  and  the  clouds  were  getting  blacker 
and  heavier  every  minute.  Darkness  came  on  so  soon 
that  a  candle  must  needs  be  lighted  to  aid  in  making  a 
selection  from  the  pile  of  moccasins.  One  would  guess 
they  were  taken  at  scalping  time,  for  not  a  moccasin 


220  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

but  bore  plain   marks  of  a  sometime  copious   flow  of 
blood. 

"Ugh!  Dig  ole  warrior.  Scalp  got  big  bleed.  Bal' 
head  scalp — mebbe  got  ha'r  on  todder  side." 

It  would  be  impossible  to  make  a  wild  Indian  laugh 
outright,  but  to  say  they  are  not  susceptible  to  the  force 
of  humor  would  belie  them.  They  are  not  a  little  greedy 
of  the  grimmer  type,  but  are  such  complete  masters  of 
expression  as  to  hold  themselves  habitually  expressionless. 

Wandee  could  not  so  far  forget  his  manhood  as  to  smile, 
but  the  idea  of  Digory's  scalps  was  amusing  enough  to 
set  his  tongue  dizzy,  to  say  the  least.  His  last  remark 
might  not  have  been  intended  as  a  jest,  but  it  certainly 
savored  of  one. 

It  was  now  dark,  pitchy  dark,  and  the  Indians  were 
already  outside  the  little  enclosure  that  Sergent  called 
his  front  yard,  standing  wide  apart,  each  taking  the  wind 
as  it  rolled  up  from  the  valley  on  the  west,  in  a  steady 
blast,  unobstructed  in  its  course  over  the  eight  miles  of 
space  which  intervened  between  Sagatabscot  and  the 
grand  swelling  ridge  and  dome  of  Asnebumskit  in  the 
northwest.  The  wind,  however  much  broken  by  the 
woods,  or  deflected  by  hill  and  hollow,  must  be  their  only 
guide  in  the  darkness;  no  other  indication  of  course  was 
recognizable,  and  whatever  variations  might  be  induced 
by  mound  or  swale  must  be  nicely  calculated.  This  was 
practicable,  as  the  Indians  were  familar  with  the  precise 
topography  of  the  section  which,  by  keeping  in  mind,  the 
rate  of  progress  might  at  any  time  correctly  assure  them 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  221 

of  their  position.  Nothing  must  now  be  amiss  in  the 
calculation,  or  who  knows  but  they  might  walk  into  the 
very  jaws  of  a  hostile  camp. 

John  and  Susan  have  parted  in  good  heart  and  confi- 
dent of  a  speedy  meeting  at  Marlborough,  for  certainly 
there  could  be  but  little  to  fear  now. 

Wandee  was  master  of  the  situation,  so  far  as  the 
party's  short  flight  was  concerned,  and  he  had  assured 
Sergent  that  once  on  the  way,  by  the  route  proposed,  their 
passage  was  comparatively  safe,  and  the  walk,  only 
twenty-six  miles,  a  feat  scarce  worth  the  reckoning. 

The  mother,  Martha,  and  little  Netty,  had  each  in 
their  way,  as  each  thought  decorous,  taken  their  leave, 
and  even  the  baby — for  there  was  a  new-comer  to  the 
house  of  Digory — had  been  passed  by  a  kiss,  through  the 
formality  of  leave-taking. 

Old  Digory  fumbled  John's  rifle,  and  looked  it  over  by 
candle  light,  every  now  and  then  casting  toward  the 
captain's  face  a  furtive,  questioning  glance,  as  much,  if 
rightly  interpreted,  as  to  say,  "I  feel  a  little  shaky — do 
you  ?  ' '  but  he  said  nothing  aloud  then  to  indicate  solici- 
tude. 

"  Good  night,  boys,"  he  said  to  Wandee  and  the  scouts. 

"Good  t'ing,  old  Dig;  tie  up  ox,  tie  up  dog,  march  low 
fo' mile.  All  right." 

"John,"  said  Sergent,  hesitating  a  moment,  and  seem- 
ing in  an  effort  to  choke  back  some  impediment  to  speech, 
"John,  there's  no  use  talkin',"  and  reaching  out  his 
hand  to  the  captain's  ready,  open  palm,  "  my  sperits  run 


222  DOOM    OF    WASHAKIM. 

low  ter-night.  I  can't  brace  up.  It  ain't  because  I  'm  so 
old — I'm  only  sixty  past,  and  I  ain't  no  coward,  John; 
you  all  know  that.  I  'm  ashamed  on  't,  John,  but  the 
fact  on't  is,  John,  somehow  I  can't  quite  face  the  music 
ter-night.  Mebbe  it's  because  I've  got  five  lives  on  my 
hands.  I  don't  keer  a  fo' pence  ha-penny  for  my  own, 
but,  my  God,  John!  here's  mother  and  the  children,  and 
it 's  all  my  fault.  I  know  it,  and  there's  no  use  er 
talkin'.  It's  all  my  fault.  I  did  wrong  in  not  going 
away  with  them  sooner.  But  how  was  I  to  know  that 
half  er  Canada  would  be  about  our  heels  ?  I'm  afraid  it 
was  wicked  in  me  John.  I  wish  I  'd  er  made  'em  go. 
Tham  critters  might  er  killed  me,  an'  they'd  er  been  wel- 
come ter  my  scalp,  if  the  women  folks  was  on'y  safe." 

"Come,  come,  now,  Sergent,  none  of  this.  You  acted 
upon  your  judgment  of  conditions;  acted  in  good  faith; 
what  more  could  the  best  of  us  do?  An  error  in  judg- 
ment cannot  be  accounted  sin,  whatever  it  entails.  Don't 
be  so  ready  to  accuse  yourself.  But  they  are  moving; 
good  night.  To-m0rrow  at  noon,  beyond  the  Nipuap; 
lower  woods,  seven  miles.  I,uck  goes  with  pluck.  Good 
night!" 

"Take  the  plantation  ridge,  John,  it's  safer  than  the 
hollers,  and  it  gives  ye  the  wind. ' ' 

And  with  this  parting  injunction  old  Digory  recrossed 
his  threshold  and  Wandee  and  his  party  slid  out  into  the 
night. 

Good  night,  Digory!  say  we,  we  shall  hear  of  you 
again — in  history. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   PARTY  OF   ARREST. 

THE  plantation  ridge  was  reached  after  crossing  the 
half  mile  of  valley  that  divided  it  from  Sagatabscot. 
Great  caution  was  necessary  where  the  Hassinomissitt 
trail  ran  between  the  hills  and  along  the  valley,  for  there 
Indians  might  be  expected,  waiting  to  intercept  any  scout 
sent  out  from  Marlborough.  Wandee  led,  and  so  noise- 
lessly that  the  whip-poor-will  started  from  the  ground 
only  when  brushed  by  his  muffled  foot.  The  party  had 
gained  the  ridge  and  were  nearing  the  summit,  when 
they  veered  to  the  right,  and  passing  the  clay  banks 
moved  directly  east,  entering  the  lake  forest  to  the  south 
of  the  narrows.  Hitherto  they  seemed  to  have  kept  their 
file  more  by  instinct  than  by  aid  of  any  physical  faculties, 
for,  to  an  eye  and  ear  like  the  captain's  no  sight  or  sound 
was  appreciable.  Suddenly  the  white  man  felt  the  touch 
of  a  hand,  from  the  advance,  and  the  five  scouts  in  his 
rear  seemed  to  know  by  intuition  that  a  halt  was  called. 
Wandee' s  quick  ears  had  detected  sounds  like  those  pro- 
duced by  men  in  sleep;  something  like  hard  breathing;  and, 
as  he  mutely  directed  his  companions  to  wait,  he  passed 
on  and  could  soon  scent  a  dead  fire.  Could,  by  listening 
in  such  close  proximity,  count  five.  But  were  they 


224  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

friends  or  foes  ?  They  might  be  Hill  Indians,  being  so 
near,  being  less  than  two  miles  away,  and  perhaps  over- 
spent with  watching  might  be  their  excuse  for  such 
gross  carelessness. 

The  Indian's  art  availed  him  in  ascertaining  the  truth. 
A  dry  twig  fell  upon  the  sleepers,  and  in  an  instant  they 
were  awake  and  began  to  murmur.  It  might  be  an  owl 
had  lighted  upon  a  rotting  twig  that  yielded  to  its  weight. 
The  wind  might  have  detached  it  from  an  overhanging 
bough.  A  coon  might  have  been  making  its  nocturnal 
round  and  tried  the  stick  before  trusting  his  weight  upon 
it.  Coons  do  that  way.  But  owl,  or  wind,  or  coon,  it 
was  all  the  same.  The  startled  sleepers'  strange  dialect, 
as  they  in  an  undertone  discussed  the  matter,  had  given 
them  away.  They  were  the  short  warriors  from  the 
north.  It  would  n't  be  Indian  to  attack  them  now.  They 
must  quiet  down  and  sleep  again. 

Wandee  reported  to  his  party  what  had  happened,  and 
what  he  had  learned.  They  had  murmured  in  an  idiom 
unknown  to  the  Nipnet.  They  talked  scarcely  above 
a  whisper,  but  the  quick  ear  of  the  Indian,  aided  by  the 
occasion  of  his  own  devising,  found  it  strange  to  his 
vernacular.  They  growled, — might  be  at  coon,  or  wind, 
or  bird — and  cuddling  closer  in  their  blankets,  slept. 
And  the  Quinsigamonds  wore  up  to  Wigwam  Hill  that 
night,  five  good,  green  scalps,  though  not  a  sound  was 
heard  that  would  startle  a  fox,  where  they  were  harvested. 

The  fatigue  of  thirty  miles  of  prowling  necessitated 
rest,  and  with  every  care  for  their  comfort  that  woman's 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  225 

love  and  warrior's  duty  might  bestow,  they  were  fed  to 
surfeit  for  their  fasting,  and  lodged  in  bear  skins  until 
the  day  should  break. 

It  has  been  said  the  morrow  had  been  fixed  upon  by 
the  people  of  Marlborough  for  the  summary  removal  of 
the  Sergent  family,  and  accordingly,  at  the  earliest 
glimmer  of  the  dawn  a  squad  of  twelve  men,  including 
the  parson  and  Jim  Pyke,  with  Ephraim  Curtis  at  their 
head,  took  up  the  line  of  march,  in  Indian  file,  for 
Sagatabscot  Hill,  with  a  route  laid  out  almost  identical 
with  the  one  contemplated  by  Sergent.  By  the  course 
they  had  adopted  they  were  without  a  beaten  trail  and 
were  compelled  to  make  their  way  at  great  pains,  cross- 
ing swamps  covered  with  stunted,  dead  and  dying  cedars 
and  hackmatack  tangles,  or  hillsides  nearly  as  impass- 
able by  reason  of  spoonwood  jungles.  But  on  the  other 
hand  they  could  hope  for  perfect  immunity  from  hostile 
bands  of  savages. 

At  four  of  the  clock,  reckoned  by  the  sun's  place  upon 
the  day's  dial,  the  house  of  Digory  Sergent  was  reached, 
at  the  end  of  a  twelve  hours'  march,  but  as  the  little 
squad  drew  up  in  front  of  it,  not  a  sound  broke  the  awful 
stillness  of  the  little  clearing;  not  even  the  bark  of  a  dog, 
not  the  lowing  of  a  cow,  not  the  purr  of  a  cat.  Some 
crows  sat  perched  upon  the  tall  chestnuts  in  front  of  the 
house,  silent,  watching  may  be;  waiting  expectant;  but 
at  the  sight  of  intruders  they  flapped  their  reluctant 
wings  and  sailed  slowly,  noiselessly,  disappointedly 
away.  A  speckled  woodpecker  did  venture  upon  the 
15 


226  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

chestnut  tree's  trunk  and  peck  for  a  moment,  but  what 
was  that  except  something  to  make  silence  audible  ?  to 
make  stillness  seem  the  more  profound?  to  make  the 
lack  of  sound  appreciable  ?  To  the  startled  ear  it  would 
seem  like  the  rattle  of  close  at  hand  musketry, — so  sharp- 
ly it  broke  out  of  nothing  upon  the  sense  auricular.  But 
she  flew  away  and  left  no  sound,  no  life.  The  door  of 
the  house  was  open.  The  axe  was  still  sticking  in  the 
log  as  it  was  left  by  the  last  blow,  and  there  upon  the 
wood-pile  were  Digory's  hat  and  coat.  Aye!  and  on  the 
chopping  block  were  pipe  and  spectacles.  Sergent  would 
be  out  in  a  minute.  He  had  probably  seen  them  coming 
and  just  stepped  in  to  slick  up  a  bit.  It  would  be  want- 
ing in  courtesy  for  the  militia  to  enter  uninvited,  and 
much  more  so  to  storm  his  castle  until  after  duly  chal- 
lenging a  surrender.  But  the  order  of  the  Justice  of  the 
Peace  was  authority  from  the  colony,  and  so  up  to  Crown. 
The  order  must  be  obeyed,  but  it  must  be  done  with 
military  precision. 

"  Digory  Sergent,  I,  Ephraim  Curtis,  in  the  name  of 
the  King  of  England,  Ireland,  Scotland  and  the  Colonies, 
more  especially  the  Colony  of  Massachusetts,  command 
you  to  appear  and  peaceably  deliver  yourself  into 
custody. ' ' 

No  answer  came  from  within.  No  reply  to  the  sum- 
mons. Sergent  might  be  shaving.  They  would  wait  a 
moment.  Curtis  was  becoming  impatient;  mistrustful, 
possibly,  that  something  had  gone  wrong.  Sergent  might 
have  anticipated  their  movement  and  headed  for  Marl- 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  227 

borough  by  some  other  route.  He  would  not  harbor  a 
suspicion  that  was  already  forcing  itself  upon  his  mind, 
but  being  impatient,  he  shouted  : 

"  Digory  Sergent,  come  to  your  door  and  listen  to  the 
reading  of  a  warrant  for  your  arrest  and  removal  to  a 
place  of  safety.  Fail  not  at  your  peril  !" 

Nothing  is  heard  but  echo  for  response. 

"There  is  something  wrong  here,"  said  Curtis  to  his 
men.  There  's  his  hat  and  coat,  and  his  pipe  and  spec- 
tacles. The  door's  ajar,  and  I'm  going  in."  Saying 
which,  he  stepped  forward  and  entered.  Two  seconds  had 
not  elapsed  when  he  reappeared,  walking  backward,  with 
open  palm  over  his  brow,  staggering  as  he  came;  and 
when  he  turned,  his  face  was  livid  as  that  of  death  itself. 

What  could  have  so  overcome  an  old  Indian  fighter,  a 
soldier?  for  young  as  he  really  was,  he  had  seen  as  much 
service  as  any  man  in  the  colony.  He  had  seen  men  fall 
and  die  about  him.  He  had  killed — red-men — and  had 
twice  been  carried  to  the  rear  to  save  his  scalp.  Indeed 
an  Indian  wore  a  portion  of  it  at  his  waistband,  as  a 
trophy,  and  also  wore  a  bullet  mark  in  his  shoulder  for 
his  presumption.  What  could  have  so  overcome  Curtis? 

Howerever  much  one  may  accustom  one's  self  to  wit- 
nessing the  horrible,  until  by  his  real  or  affected  sang- 
froid his  heart  seems  turned  to  stone,  and  his  nerves  to 
steel,  yet  his  mind  is  ever  susceptible  to  emotional  shocks, 
as  new  and  unlocked  for  terrors  become  suddenly  apparent. 
Ephraim  Curtis  had  been  startled,  and  was  for  the 
moment  bewildered,  enfeebled,  unmanned.  His  men, 


228  DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM. 

fortified  against  surprise  by  this  intimation  of  horrors, 
partly  from  curiosity,  and  partly  from  an  instant  resolu- 
tion to  accomplish  what  their  leader  in  a  moment  of 
weakness  seemed  to  shrink  from,  entered  at  the  door. 
Digory  Sergent  lay  there  with  his  scalp-lock  gone,  face 
down,  across  the  broken  breech  and  bent  barrel  of  his 
rifle;  dead  upon  his  own  floor.  Great  gouts  of  blood  and 
bloody  clips  of  long,  black  hair,  were  here  and  there  upon 
the  floor,  upon  the  furniture,  upon  all  about  him.  Tables, 
chairs,  and  other  household  articles  lay  scattered  about, 
broken,  twisted,  split  and  splintered,  and  in  a  far  corner, 
the  house  dog, — a  black,  undershot  jawed,  mongrel 
mastiff — lay  dead,  but  with  eyes  still  glaring,  still  blazing 
with  the  green  fire  of  frenzied,  canine  fury,  and  in  his 
locked  and  blood-streaked,  frothing  jaws,  the  throat  and 
windpipe  of  a  savage,  who  lay  prone  in  death,  stripped  of 
his  breech  clout,  stiff  and  stark  upon  the  oaken  floor, 
telling  of  a  dormant  ferocity  that  leaped  to  his  master's 
aid  with  all  its  primitive  wildness. 

Sergent 's  struggle  with  the  red  fiends  must  have  been 
terrible.  A  wife  and  children  were  in  his  charge  and 
keeping  and  he  was  especially  accountable  for  them,  since 
he  had  spurned  the  council  and  protection  of  his  neigh- 
bors. Digory  fought  hard;  fought  manfully;  paid  the 
penalty  of  his  temerity,  and  slept. 

No  member  of  the  family  was  in  or  about  the  house, 
but  shreds  of  women's  clothing,  unlocked  flints  and  broken 
ramrods,  gave  intimation  of  a  quadruple  defense  of  the 


DOOM   OF   WASHAE1IM.  2 29 

Sagatabscot  citadel.  It  was  evident  the  family  had  been 
carried  into  captivity. 

A  hurried  council  resulted  in  a  resolution  to  pursue 
the  savages  and  their  prisoners  with  all  possible  speed, 
for  it  was  evident  that  the  bloody  work  had  been  accom- 
plished within  the  hour,  and  it  was  among  the  possibilities 
to  overtake  the  perpetrators  and  effect  a  rescue.  There 
was  now  no  time  even  to  bury  Sergent.  They  would 
close  the  door,  that  prowling  wolf  or  waiting  crow 
might  be  cheated  of  an  ugly  feast.  Nothing  could  indeed 
do  Sergent  harm,  but  his  body  must  be  preserved  for 
decent  burial,  after  they  had  done  their  best  to  shield 
the  defenceless  women  from  the  untold  horrors  which 
otherwise  awaited  them. 

Hastily  overhauling  their  equipments,  inspecting  their 
pieces,  and  tightening  their  belts  for  rapid  work,  they 
struck  the  Indian  off  trail  (but  not  without  misgivings 
from  what  seemed  the  immensity  of  numbers)  and  started 
in  Indian  file  upon  a  slow,  swinging  lope  for  Packachoag 
Hill  toward  which  the  trail  seemed  leading. 

Quickly  descending  the  western  slope  of  Sagatabscot, 
crossing  the  valley  and  river,  and  making  a  diagonal 
ascent  of  Packachoag,  they  were  within  an  hour  at  the 
log  house  so  lately  deserted  by  Gershom  Rice  and  family. 

They  found  the  house  not  entirely  tenantless,  as  a 
party  of  praying  Indians  had  entered  it  but  a  moment 
before  and  were  in  temporary  occupancy.  They  had 
halted  for  the  purpose  of  cooking  by  the  aid  of -the  fire- 
place and  what  utensils  of  culinary  use  might  be  left, 


230  DOOM   OF  WASHAKIM. 

the  carcass  of  a  coon  they  had  just  forced  by  hand  and 
smoke,  from  the  hollow  of  a  tree.  They  intended  to  sup 
and  then  make  their  way  as  expeditiously  as  possible  to 
Wigwam  Hill  to  report  the  day's  disaster,  of  which  they 
had,  in  some  way  gained  knowledge,  that  by  some  means 
(they  had  but  vague  ideas  of  what)  the  family  might  be 
rescued. 

They,  the  Packachoags,  were  by  no  means  a  fighting 
people,  but  they  were  friendly  to  the  whites,  and  seemed 
to  think  the  Quinsigamonds  were  valorous  enough  for 
any  undertaking  in  their  friends'  behalf.  They  were 
now  ready  to  acquaint  Curtis  with  every  circumstance 
that  had  come  to  their  knowledge.  The  retreating  party, 
the  Packachoags  said,  numbered  several  hundred,  many 
of  whom  were  from  the  North,  while  a  few  Nipnets, 
chiefly  Washakims,  who,  however,  took  no  active  part, 
except  as  an  escort  for  the  women,  accompanied  them. 
They  said  the  Washakims  were  led  by  a  strange  warrior, 
who  must  have  come  from  a  great  distance,  for  his  whole 
manner  was  unlike  anything  they  had  ever  seen  among 
the  Indians.  His  face  was  scratched  as  if  by  the  upper 
brush  of  thickets,  which  might  be,  as  he  always  marched, 
instead  of  loping  like  an  Indian  with  bent  head,  and  he 
often  tripped  in  tangles  from  toeing  out. 

These  praying  Indians  had  learned  from  a  straggler  or 
a  stroller,  that  the  Washakims,  on  their  return  to 
Tehassit,  were  to  join  in  a  line  of  pickets  that  was  estab- 
lished the  day  before,  to  act  in  some  way  against  the 
Hill  Indians.  That  on  their  return  one-half  of  the 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  23! 

Northmen  would  start  at  once  for  Ontario  with  the  cap- 
tives, while  the  other  half  remained  to  effect  their  purpose, 
whatever  that  might  be,  upon  the  Hill  tribe. 

The  white  men  were  now  too  far  spent  to  continue  the 
pursuit,  even  were  it  not  the  height  of  presumption  to  do 
so  in  the  face  of  facts  as  presented  by  the  Packachoags, 
and  Curtis  determined  to  quarter  in  the  log  house  for  the 
night. 

The  Packachoags,  the  sum  of  whose  knowledge  of  the 
use  of  household  utensils  consisted  in  observation  of  the 
white  women  at  work,  as  they  themselves  had  hung 
around  the  back  doors,  for  the  dogs'  morsel — where 
there  was  no  dog — had  swung  out  the  crane  and  inserted 
a  pot  hook  under  the  hamstrings  of  the  coon,  thus  sus- 
pending it  head  downward  by  each  leg,  and  swinging 
the  crane  back  to  its  place  had  ignored  andirons,  poker, 
tongs  and  fire-slice,  and  stepping  into  the  wide-mouthed 
chimney  were  arranging  wood  and  kindling  according  to 
their  ideas  of  domestic  economy,  while  one  Indian  was 
industriously  rubbing  together  two  sticks  which  soon 
smoked  at  the  point  of  ignition,  and  a  rousing  fire  was 
the  quick  result.  The  carcass  of  the  coon — with  its  pelt 
still  on,  and  its  entrails  all  in  position  as  when  on  its 
last  noctural  round  it  disturbed  the  mother  robin  and 
stretched  out  its  prehensile  paw  to  retrieve  the  only 
remaining  egg,  while  the  hair,  what  remained,  was  crisp- 
ing and  curling,  or  passing  up  the  chimney  flue  in  smoke — 
was  simmering  and  stewing,  dripping  its  ammoniacal 
odorous  fat  upon  the  coals  and  rapidly  scorching  on  the 


232  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

outside  until  it  reached  the  inviting  hue  of  the  chimney 
back,  when  one  very  hungry  Indian,  the  self-constituted 
toast-master  of  the  occasion,  called  out:  "Done,  Injun. 
Done,  goot." 

An  Indian  is  always  hungry,  rarely  feasts,  and  seldom 
sees  food  enough  before  him  at  any  one  time  to  produce 
a  surfeit.  Indians  always  eat  when  food  is  at  hand, 
against  the  next  day's  chances.  This  carcass,  which 
might  have  weighed  eighteen  pounds,  was  quartered,  and 
the  four  aboriginal  Christians  fell  at  once  to  tearing  the 
still  bloody  flesh  with  teeth  and  fingers,  and  having  made 
a  hasty  dessert  of  the  less  fibrous  portion,  and  pounded 
the  bones  into  pomace  to  eat  as  dressing,  were  soon  out- 
side this  tidbit  of  a  roast. 

Being  in  a  manner  not  extravagant  for  an  Indian, 
refreshed,  and  after  giving  audible  thanks,  a  custom  of 
invariable  observance  among  the  converts,  one  which 
usually  consumed  time  in  the  ratio  of  two  to  one  of  eat- 
ing— if  white  men  were  within  hearing — these  Indians 
who  could  at  the  same  moment  turn  one  eye  to  devotion 
and  the  other  to  theft,  rising  refreshed  and  happy  as 
Indians  can  be  after  feeding  upon  only  four  pounds  of 
flesh  and  bones  each,  commended  the  Marlborough 
soldiers  to  the  kindly  keeping  of  the  Great  Father  of  men, 
and  slouched  off  into  the  night,  with  their  moccasins 
pointed  towards  Wigwam  hill. 

Curtis  and  his  men  camped  upon  the  floor  that  night, 
each  wrapped  in  his  blanket,  and  dreamed  dreams  of  the 
living,  but  dreams  so  wide  away  from  at  least  one  reality, 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  233 

that  six  hostile  Indians1  in  the  cellar  of  that  same  house, 
penned  in  by  the  soldiers  who  lay  stretched  upon  the  trap 
door,  listened  all  night  long  to  the  threatful  mutterings 
of  that  armed  dozen  who  slept,  and  before  the  sun  was 
an  hour  high  walked  away  unmolested. 

As  the  stars  that  had  been  gleaming  in  the  leaden  blue 
over  the  Hassinomissitt  hills  began  to  glimmer  and  go 
out  one  by  one  before  the  glowing,  yellow  sheen  that 
slowly  crept  up  from  the  horizon,  Curtis  and  his  file  of 
soldiers  raked  open  the  ashes  over  that  huge  bed  of  coals, 
which,  after  the  converts'  leave-taking,  had  kept  the 
smouldering  back-log  and  fore-stick  and  that  bushel  of 
red  hot  coals  alive  since  the  Indians  supped,  and  casting 
on  a  mass  of  brush  wood,  placed  the  contents  of  a  small 
bag  of  corn  meal  in  the  great  iron  pot,  added  a  quantity 
of  water  and  a  sprinkling  of  salt,  placed  the  thick  dough 
in  a  tin  kitchen  before  the  fire,  and  waited.  This  was 
the  half  hour  for  council.  Would  it  be  judicious  to 
attack  a  party  of  several  hundred  Indians,  if  indeed  they 
could  be  overhauled  before  reaching  camp  ?  That  was 
the  question. 

"Decidedly  no!"  was  the  verdict  of  Curtis.  "It 
would  be  presumptuous  to  the  last  degree.  It  would  be 
sure  death  to  every  man  of  us  to  attack  such  a  number  of 
Indians,  even  in  their  sleep;  Indians  prepared  for  any 

1  Six  Indians  of  the  raiding  party — not  yet  recovered  from  the 
effect  of  the  last  nighf's  debauch — were  confined  in  Rice's  cel- 
lar by  the  white  men  who  slept — unconscious  of  their  presence 
— stretched  over  the  trap  in  the  floor. 


234  DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM. 

emergency  of  hostilities, — to  watch,  to  defend,  to  assault, 
and  to  cover  retreat." 

He  had  yet  to  hear,  and  that  soon,  of  an  equally  rash, 
but  successful  feat,  and  that  accomplished  by  what  he 
would  term  "only  an  Indian." 

But  in  this  case  the  parson  would  fain  proceed  to  ' '  smite 
the  enemies  of  God  with  the  edge  of  the  sword."  His 
blood  was  up ;  he  was  no  coward,  neither  was  he  vain- 
glorious. He  did  nothing  for  self-exaltation,  but  every- 
thing in  the  fear  of  the  Lord,  whose  mortal  subject  and 
living  representative  he  for  the  hour  was. 

"  And  hath  not  the  I^ord  said  'Vengeance  is  mine;  I 
will  repay  ?  '  What  can  this  text  mean,  but  that  ven- 
geance taken  on  these  heathen  idolaters  will  bring  to 
this,  the  seed  of  Abraham,  recompense?  " 

The  parson's  whole  physical,  mental,  and  moral  consti- 
tution thrilled,  burned  to  execute  judgment  upon  the 
enemies  of  God,  regardless  of  personal  consequences. 

And  Jim  Pyke,  the  quiet,  unobtrusive,  peace-loving 
Jim  Pyke ;  the  conscientious  delinquent  in  canonical  re- 
quirements; conscientious  by  nature  and  early  teaching, 
delinquent  through  habitual  carelessness; — Jim  Pyke  was 
on  his  nerve  this  early  A.  M.  He  had  a  wife  and  children 
whom  he  loved,  but  his  love  was  a  generous  passion, 
reaching  out  to  that  extent  that  it  embraced  all  in  whom 
love,  as  a  sentiment  or  passion,  was  a  welcome  habitant. 
Digory  Sergent's  "women  folks  "  had  many  to  love  them. 
They  were  white,  and  therefore  were  capable  of  loving. 
But  Jim  Pyke  believed  in  his  heart  that  to  like  was  the 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  235 

highest  phase  of  affection's  development  in  an  "  Injun," 
and  therefore  Jim  and  the  Injun  couldn't  affiliate. 

Said  Jim,  "sail  inter  that  ar  Injun  camp  like  a  wadge 
inter  a  log.  Go  fer  the  very  heart  on  't — save  the  women 
folks  ef  yer  ken,  an'  if  ye  karn't,  then  kill  as  many  er 
them  ar  critters  as  yer  ken,  and  die  happy." 

But  Curtis'  authority,  if  not  his  counsel,  prevailed.  He 
believed  in  saving  his  ammunition  for  some  better,  future 
promise. 

And  so  the  file  of  soldiers  that  marched  up  to  Packa- 
choag  yesterday  marched  back  again  to-day  and  left  the 
six  hostile  Indians,  who  had  lain  concealed  in  the  cellar 
through  the  night,  free  to  follow  the  trail  of  their  com- 
rades, unmolested. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

MIDNIGHT    ASSAUI/T. 

EVENTS  were  being  crowded  into  a  narrow  compass. 

Within  seventy  hours  the  Castle  had  been  attacked, 
the  garrison  had  retreated  upon  Marlborough,  and  the 
plantation  buildings  had  been  laid  in  ashes.  Sergent  had 
been  persuaded  to  remove  to  Marlborough,  Captain  Wing 
and  the  Chief  Wandee  had  been  rescued  from  captivity; 
Tehuanto,  the  Washakim,  had  bargained  with  the  On- 
tario chief  to  reduce  the  Hill  tribe;  Archer,  the  missing 
guest  of  the  captain,  in  or  out  of  the  flesh,  had  more 
than  once  put  in  a  mystical  appearance,  and  disap- 
peared as  strangely  and  as  soon.  The  line  of  siege  to 
Wigwam  had  taken  position.  The  captain  and  Wandee 
had  visited  Sergent  at  his  house;  Sergent  had  been  scalped 
and  his  family  taken  captives,  and  Susan  was  practically 
the  prisoner  of  Eugene  Archer,  in  an  Indian  camp. 

On  the  day  fixed  upon  for  Sergent' s  retreat  upon  Marl- 
borough,  Captain  Wing  set  out  with  the  sun  four  hours 
high,  having  in  view  to  cross  the  path  of  the  family 
when  nearest  Hassinomissitt  and  accompanying  them  for 
a  few  miles,  or  until,  having  passed  the  pathless  swamps 
and  spoonwood  thickets,  they  would  be  less  in  need  of 
such  assistance  as  he  might  be  able  to  render.  Having 


DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM.  237 

crossed  the  lake  at  Wigwam,  in  a  canoe,  he  worked  his 
way  down  the  glens  and  over  swamps  until  he  found 
himself  at  the  point  where  the  lower  lake  breaks  away 
and  flows  with  rapid  run  to  the  valley  of  the  Nipnap.1 

He  was  assuredly  in  good  time;  certainly  as  early  as 
would  seem  possible  for  Sergent  to  reach  that  point;  but 
not  a  solitary  footprint,  not  a  sign  of  a  trail  was  to  be 
seen  running  to  eastward.  There  was  a  trail,  but  the 
dews  had  fallen  since  it  was  made.  It  was  a  white  man's 
trail;  the  trail  of  several  such;  and  it  ran  with  the  sun. 
There  were  many  evidences  that  no  party  of  Indians 
ever  made  it.  There  was  turning  out  in  several  ways  to 
pass  the  same  obstruction,  no  care  for  keeping  file; 
straggling,  as  if  each  man  would  select  his  way,  and 
where  the  trail  was  kept  by  file,  it  was  all  too  wide. 

What  could  have  been  the  purpose  of  a  few  white  men 
passing  to  westward,  and  in  the  face  of  overwhelming 
numbers  of  the  enemy,  was  past  comprehension.  That 
they  were  very  few  was  certain.  An  Indian  could  have 
numbered  them  by  the  variation  of  footprints  in  the  ten- 
der sod  of  early  summer,  but  to  do  that  exceeds  the 
skill  of  any  but  a  born  woodman.  How  should  the  cap- 
tain be  able  to  guess  upon  what  errand  these  white  men 
were  sent,  since  all  the  happenings  at  Marlborough,  and 
much  of  what  had  been  done  hereabouts,  were  in  his 
mind  a  blank. 

1  The  Half-way  River  joins  the  Bimelick  at  Quinsigamond 
Village,  and  the  Blackstone  or  Nipnap  at  Fisherville,  nine  miles 
south  of  the  city  of  Worcester. 


238  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

The  day  wore  on.  The  night  came  on,  and  Sergent 
with  his  charge  made  no  appearance.  Something  was 
wrong.  There  was  but  one  way  to  act.  He  must  return 
at  once  to  Wigwam,  call  out  a  force  sufficient  for  offensive 
or  defensive  work,  and  proceed  without  delay  to  ascertain 
why  Sergent  had  delayed  retreat. 

The  moon  rose  with  the  set  of  sun,  and  the  moon  was 
up  two  hours  high  when  the  birch  canoe  landed  the 
nervous,  anxious  captain  at  the  foot  of  Wigwam.  A 
brief  and  sorry  tale  met  him  as  he  stepped  on  shore. 
A  tale  that  made  the  blood  at  first  recoil  from  the  surface 
and  roll  back  upon  its  intermittently  palpitating  source. 
A  tale  that  seemed  to  choke  the  breath  and  chill  the 
heart  with  horror;  but  a  moment  later  the  blood  bounded 
flushing  to  the  face,  tingling  to  every  extremity  and 
indicating  an  already  half- formed  purpose,  and  a  dis- 
position to  execute  it.  There  is  no  specific  for  a  suffering 
soul  or  body  like  a  counter-irritant.  A  suddenl)^ 
awakened  spirit  of  revenge;  a  new  conception  of  a  danger- 
ous hazard;  a  startling  surprise;  will  in  a  moment,  lull 
an  ache  or  sear  a  wounded  heart  and  start  it  on  the  way 
to  convalescence. 

Wandee  met  the  captain  at  the  water's  edge. 

"  Cap'n,  new  t'ing.     Heap  bad,  Cap'n." 

"Speak  out,  Wandee.  I  am  prepared.  I  half 
expected  Sergent  had  been  besieged,  or  watched,  or 
some  such  hindrance  placed  upon  him,  but  speak  out — 
what  is  it?" 

"  Cap'n  shut  ear.     Say  Wandee  never  tol'  him.    Cap'n 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  239 

git  mad.  Cap'n  swear.  Feel  all  better.  Den  open 
ear." 

"  Oh,  speak;  out  with  it !  What  have  you  to  say  that 
my  ears  will  shrink  from  hearing  ? ' ' 

"But  Cap'n  will.  Cap'n  swear;  say  dam  heap  bad 
Injun!  Say  cuss — say  God.  Call  Great  Spirit — 'less 
Cap'n  turn  whiter  'n  moon." 

"  Don't  kill  me  with  words,  Wandee." 

"  Heap  bad,  Cap'n.     Old  Dig  los'  scalp." 

' '  I  feared  as  much.     And  the  mother  and  daughters  ?  ' ' 

"All  gone.  Injun  got  'em  off;  gone  long  way.  Kill 
pappoose  up  Tehassit.  Prayin'  Injun  say  all  t'ings." 

"What  Indians  did  this?  Where  from?  Where 
gone  ? ' ' 

"Cap'n  lif  head,  look  up  sky.  Cap'n  swear!  Say 
heap  dam'  bad  Injun  !  Cap'n  no  squaw;  Cap'n  swear, 
big  swear — nen  shut  teeth. ' ' 

"Goon,  Wandee." 

"Big  lot  Injun.  Injun  from  col'  country,  way  up; 
top  ribber;  top  big  lake.  Injun  go  no  furder;  'way  up 
Ontary." 

' '  Which  way  went  they  from  Tehassit  ?  ' ' 

"Go  up  'Bumskit.  Go  home,  Ontary.  Some  go 
Washakim." 

' '  Were  the  Washakims  with  them  ? ' ' 

"  'Bout  hundrd — you  guess.  Strange  Injun  dar.  Him 
look  up  sky  all  time.  Him  no  look  down  same  's  Injun. 
Him  chief.  Him  toe  out.  No  say — no  talk  all  time." 

' '  Could  you  make  out  his  tribe  ?  ' ' 


240  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

' '  Guess  got  no  tribe.  Mohawk,  mebbe.  Mebbe 
spirit — bad  spirit.  Do'  know.  Him  no  talk  Ontary, 
no  talk  'tall.  Him  witch;  him  devil;  him  no  Injun. 
Injun  no  look  up  all  time." 

"  Of  course  Tehuanto  dare  not  keep  the  women,  and 
so  near  his  old  prisoners. ' ' 

"Tehuanto  t'ink  him  got  prisoners,  up  Twin  Lake." 

"  Don't  you  suppose  he  knew  of  our  escape  ?  " 

' '  How  should  ?  Wandee  got  fast  foot.  Up  Washakim 
old  mans.  No  run  so  quick.  Tehuanto  see  Dig  las' 
night.  Dig  los'  scalp  sun  up  tree  high." 

'•Who  brought  the  story  ?  " 

"  Packachoag  meetin' men.  Him  say  all  story.  Pack- 
achoag  steal.  Packachoag  no  lie.  Packachoag  pray 
for  meat;  nen  steal  it.  Packachoag  tongue  all  true;  say 
Injun  have  war  dance  up  Tehassit,  'fore  soon." 

' '  When  is  the  war  dance  ? ' ' 

"  Dis  time,  moon-up  tree  high.  Meetin'  men  say 
story.  Say  Washakim  go  home,  no  take  white  squaw." 

' '  Curse  these  red  heathen  !  no  sooner  out  of  one  mis- 
chance than  they  manage  to  bring  on  another.  But  if 
they  get  to  Ontario  with  whole  scalps  they  will  do  bet- 
ter than  I  think.  That  is,  if  they  take  those  women. ' ' 

"  Goot  'nuf,  Cap'n  John  !  Big  brave  Cap'n  !  Cap'n 
git  mad;  swear  some;  hope  some;  feel  better." 

I  will  follow  those  Ontarios;  will  any  Hill  Indian  vol- 
unteer to  accompany  me  ?  ' ' 

"  Cap'n  say  book  words,  no  un'stan.  Cap'n  say  go? 
say  fight  ?  Wandee  go  too.  Go  one,  two  days.  Heap 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  241 

Injun  over  hill  yon.  Big  fight  mebbe.  Cap'n  sleep,  call 
Cap'n  moon  half  up.  Wandee  call  council.  If  go,  go 
quick — like  deer.  Big  talk — Injun  tired." 

' '  Well,  I  must  wait,  and  rest  while  I  can — sleep  may 
be.  May  be  my  last  sleep.  No  matter;  it  is  do  or  die 
this  time. ' ' 

The  programme,  as  contemplated,  and  privately  ar- 
ranged by  Philip,  including  the  destruction  of  various 
settlements  near  at  hand,  had  so  far  been  carried  out  to 
the  end. 

Nothing  now  remained  to  do  for  the  present,  or  until 
the  whites,  goaded  beyond  endurance,  should  assume 
the  offensive,  a  thing  sure  to  happen,  and  as  the  Indians 
were  at  once  to  disperse,  no  way  would  be  left  for  the 
enemy  but  to  send  out  detachments  of  armed  men  to 
chastise  the  marauders,  each  tribe  in  or  about  its  own 
lodge.  And  this  was  precisely  what  the  great  chief 
wanted,  as  it  would  materially  weaken  the  defensive 
force  in  Boston  and  the  large  towns,  and  so,  when  by 
preconcertion  the  savages  should  concentrate  upon  this 
and  that  point,  the  effective  force  of  the  enemy  remaining 
was  unlikely  to  be  competent  for  successful  resistance. 

So  adroitly  had  the  scheme  been  fashioned,  and  so 
successfully  initiated,  that  it  is  more  than  likely,  had  it 
not  been  for  the  despicable  treason  of  men  of  his  own 
color  and  races, — who  to  curry  favor  for  the  cheap  praise 
or  miserable  pittance  the  white  man  might  bestow, 
betrayed  him  at  several  points — his  great  enemy  would 
16 


242  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

have  been  effectually  wiped  from  this  part  of  the  conti- 
nent. 

However  terrible  would  have  been  such  a  result,  and 
unfortunate  for  mankind  at  large,  no  fair-minded  man 
can  fail  to  sympathize  with  the  great  chief,  surnamed  the 
king,  and  to  hold  in  abhorrence  the  red  miscreant  who 
slew  him,  at  bullet  range,  from  his  hiding  place.  That 
the  viper  whom  Philip  had  nursed,  should,  in  fawning 
upon  the  white  man,  sting  his  friend  and  leader  to  the 
death. 

The  Indians  now,  by  Philip's  order,  each  made  his 
way  to  his  natal  lodge,  and  Philip,  who  had  been  active 
only  as  the  master  spirit  of  design,  retired  to  Mount 
Hope,  there  to  remain  until  time  was  ripe  to  sound  the 
call  for  completion  of  the  work  of  devastation  and  death. 

The  reduction  of  the  Hill  Lodge  was  a  private  scheme 
of  Tehuanto's,  participated  in  by  a  portion  of  the  North- 
men, partly  for  the  love  of  excitement,  and  partly  as  a 
compliment  to  the  Washakim  by  the  Ontario  chief. 

The  Washakims  must  now  go  out  upon  the  line  which 
was  to  close  in  upon  Wigwam  Hill,  ready  to  make 
attack  when  some  propitious  moment  or  circumstance 
should  seem  to  invite  it;  for  to  make  assault  upon  the 
fortified  hill  without  some  unusual  advantage,  even  with 
five  times  the  opposing  numbers,  would  seem,  to  such  as 
knew  the  force  and  temper  of  the  Quinsigamonds, 
extremely  hazardous. 

The  Ontarios,  to  the  number  of  three  hundred,  had 
been  in  line  for  a  day,  as  were  a  scattering  few  from 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  243 

several  of  the  Nipnet  tribes,  although  the  majority  of 
such  had  but  little  stomach  for  the  undertaking,  as  they 
had  no  private  wrongs  to  redress. 

The  remainder  of  the  Ontarios,  about  an  equal  number 
with  those  posted,  were  to  move  on  the  morrow  for  home, 
taking  with  them  the  white  captives,  and  accompanied 
by  Archer,  who  was  still  in  war-paint,  and  as  yet 
unrecognized  by  the  Sergents. 

Like  other  people,  the  Indians  must  celebrate  the  con- 
summation of  their  scheme,  and  to  do  this  effectually 
they  were  as  well  prepared  as  ever  Indians  were,  and 
their  methods  were  the  same  the  average  white  man 
adopts. 

Alcohol  must  be  the  propulsive  force  by  which  they 
would  be  blown  to  the  seventh  heaven  of  hilarity.  Their 
enemies,  all  within  twenty  miles,  were  dead,  and  their 
habitations  smoking  in  ruins.  The  merits  of  the  feud 
inaugurated  by  the  Washakims  against  the  Hill  Indians, 
the  Northmen  knew  little  of,  and  they  cared  less,  but 
their  chief  had  promised  and  they  would  keep  faith. 

Rum,  that  glorious  inspirator,  the  only  gift  of  civiliza- 
tion an  Indian  could  appreciate  and  really  prize,  was 
ample  in  quantity  for  the  present,  and  nothing  remained 
but  to  revel  to  their  full  content  in  one  grand  glorious 
war  dance  before  bidding  adieu  to  the  Asnebumskits  and 
the  Washakims,  and  starting  on  their  long,  back  trail  for 
the  wild  borders  of  the  great  northern  lake. 

An  Indian  war  dance  has  been  variously  described,  but 
actually  varies  only  in  the  minor  details,  all  of  which  are 


244  DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM. 

simply  disgusting  items  of  revelery,  often  rendered 
hideous  by  beastly  intoxication,  unmatched  outside  of 
civilized  society,  when  alcohol  is  made  the  basis  of  un- 
bridled riot.  A  word  picture  of  beastliness  is  not  neces- 
sary to  my  present  purpose,  and  is  certainly  foreign  to 
any  tastes  I  have  either  inherited  or  acquired,  and  I  pass 
the  scene,  merely  stating  that  the  Nipnets  present,  more 
wary,  perhaps  because  more  familiar  with  the  stupefying 
and  nauseous  effects  of  immoderate  indulgence,  had  been 
less  greedy  of  the  stimulant  and  were  able  at  early  morn- 
ing to  report  themselves  for  duty,  leaving  the  Ontarios  to 
sleep  off  the  effects  of  a  deeper  debauch. 

It  was  nearly  noon  before  the  Northmen  were  in  con- 
dition to  commence  their  journey  with  the  prisoners, 
among  whom  were  the  Sergents  and  three  women  from 
Quaboag.  Travelling  in  a  northwesterly  direction,  stag- 
gering, straggling,  romping  and  still  revelling,  they 
reached  Asnebumskit  Pond,  where  a  portion,  numbering 
perhaps  one  hundred,  camped,  being  to  far  spent  to  pro- 
ceed, while  the  remaining  two  hundred  managed  to 
march  as  far  as  Pine  Hill,  two  miles  away. 

These  last  took  to  their  blankets  where  the  brook  bends 
under  the  west  brow  of  the  hill,  and  utterly  careless  of 
surprise,  since  no  enemy  was  within  a  day's  march, 
abandoned  themselves  to  sleep  without  even  taking  the 
precaution  to  post  a  guard. 

And  with  the  same  recklessness  of  consequences,  or 
rather  sense  of  absolute  safety,  the  band  at  Asnebumskit 
had  been  equally  remiss  in  not  providing  against  the 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  245 

possibility  of  a  night  assault.  But  indeed  the  habit  of 
posting  a  watch  was  almost  universally  ignored  by  the 
American  savage,  who  trustfully  relied  upon  the  extreme 
sensitiveness  of  the  ear,  or  perhaps  upon  that  occult  sense 
which  detects  a  hostile  presence  without  the  aid  of  any  of 
the  natural  faculties.  Extreme  watchfulness,  even  in 
sleep,  is  in  their  wild  natures  inherent,  as  in  the  lower 
animals.  L,ike  the  wing-weary  wild  goose,  peacefully 
sleeping  on  the  forest  shaded  bosom  of  some  lonely  cove, 
motionless  except  the  breeze  shall  drift  him  landward, 
when,  with  the  backward  stroke  of  a  single  foot,  a  stroke 
without  thought,  without  intent,  without  conscious  pur- 
pose, he  regains  his  position  and  sleeps  on. 

The  frogs  may  pipe,  an  owl  may  scream,  the  katydids 
dispute  all  night,  he  hears  nothing,  realizes  nothing.  But 
let  a  prowling  fox  steal  near  his  liquid  bower,  never  so 
noiselessly,  never  so  softly, — and  the  air  is  full  of  motion. 
A  burst,  a  flutter,  a  loud  honk  !  and  the  little  flock,  just 
over  the  water,  is  sailing  away  for  the  broader  bosom  of 
the  open  lake.  Watchfulness,  in  an  Indian,  is  in  no 
sense  a  method,  as  with  white  men. 

Night  had  swallowed  Asnebumskit  and  the  Pines,  and 
the  moon,  risen  an  hour  later  than  sunset,  cast  at  an 
hour  before  midnight  a  dense  black  shadow  upon  the 
western  feet  of  the  two  hills  where  the  drunken  marauders 
lay  encamped. 

At  this  hour,  just  before  midnight,  two  parties  of 
twenty  Indians  each,  armed  with  tomahawks  and  scalp- 
ing knives  (ordinary  sheath  knives) ,  with  here  and  there 


246  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

a  musket,  or  a  brace  of  rusty  pistols — such  as  from  over- 
use or  want  of  use  and  defacement  had  been  discarded  by 
the  whites  and  sold  to  the  Indians — might  have  been  seen 
like  flitting,  indistinct,  black  shadows,  swiftly  moving 
over  the  ridge  to  the  west  of  Stone  House  Hill. 

One  of  these  parties  hurrying  on  in  Indian  file,  is 
headed  by  a  white  man  in  whom  we  recognize  Captain 
Wing,  while  the  other  is  led  by  no  less  a  warrior  than 
the  fierce  red  chief  of  Quinsigamond. 

Wandee  led,  and  was  on  a  heavy  trail  which  as  yet 
required  but  little  skill  to  follow,  even  in  the  semi-dark- 
ness, but  as  they  approached  Asnebumskit  L,ake,  Wandee 
came  to  an  abrupt  halt,  and  beckoned  to  the  white  man 
to  come  nearer. 

"  Cap'n  John,  Injun  split  in  two,  in  free  pieces.  Go 
t'ree  way,  some  go  up  hill — 'bout  twenty — no  squaw — 
some  go  dis  way,  go  for  pond;  some  go  nudder  way — 
do'  know. ' ' 

"  And  how  shall  we  do,  Wandee?  " 

"  Me  know  'fore  soon,  you  guess." 

And  with  that  the  Indian  bent  himself  to  the  task  of  divin- 
ing not  only  the  reason  for  the  division,  but  with  which 
of  the  two  companies  the  captives  had  gone.  The  third 
one,  the  party  that  had  ascended  the  hill,  had  not  taken 
them,  as  was  evident,  but  to  unravel  the  trail  of  the 
larger  masses  was  no  easy  task,  especially  as  the  rustle  of 
a  bush,  or  the  crackling  of  a  twig  under  foot  might 
betray  the  hunter  and  render  the  whole  scheme  abortive. 

He  started  slowly  and  alone,  crouching,  feeling  his  way, 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  247 

cat-like,  carefully  scrutinizing  the  left  hand  trail,  but 
after  a  moment  returned  and  reported. 

"Big  heap  Injun  go  dis  way.  All  sick.  All  lame. 
Too  much  fire-water.  Got  two  squaws. ' ' 

And  now  he  bent  himself  as  assiduously  to  examine 
the  trail  that  ran  to  the  northward,  by  the  east  side  of  the 
hill.  He  was  now  absent  a  much  longer  time.  So  long 
that  the  white  man  became  uneasy  and  paced  stealthily 
with  his  cushioned  feet  up  and  down,  peering  now  and 
then  with  eyes  shaded  by  his  hand  from  the  glaring 
moonlight,  into  the  thick  of  the  forest  where  the  chief 
had  disappeared. 

The  Indians,  meantime,  seemed  perfectly  reconciled  to 
the  delay,  and  in  no  way  anxious  for  their  leader,  or  dis- 
turbed by  his  absence;  but  observing  that  the  captain 
was  too  much  concerned  to  be  other  than  an  alert 
watcher,  each  Indian  stood  himself  up  against  a  tree  and 
slept,  as  restful,  as  quietly  as  he  could  have  done  in  his 
own  wigwam. 

A  full  hour  had  elapsed  and  yet  Wandee  had  not 
returned.  Fifteen  minutes  later,  and  a  dark  shadow  shot 
out  from  the  cover  of  some  birches  apart  from  the  trail, 
and  stood  as  composedly,  as  calm  and  as  free  from  fatigue 
apparently,  as  if  he  had  passed  the  hour  in  sleep.  But 
he  had  been  to  Pine  Hill.  Had  traversed  five  miles  of  forest, 
half  of  it  following  a  trail  of  which  he  could  only  catch 
glimpses  as  the  dim  light  broke  through  the  forest  foli- 
age, and  had  effectually  reconnoitered  the  enemy's 
position. 


•:.!>  DOOM  OF   WASHAKTM. 

"What  has  happened,  Wandee?  Why  gone  so  long? 
Have  you  made  out  who  and  what  was  on  the  trail  ? ' ' 
asked  the  captain,  in  a  scarcely  audible  undertone. 

"All  goot,  Cap'n.  Goot  t'ing,  Injun  all  'sleep.  Got 
fo'  squaw." 

"You  saw  them,  then  ?  ' ' 

"  See  squaw,  no  see  face.  Do1  know  who  she  be.  You 
squaw  may  be  dis  trail,  may  be  zat  trail.  Do'  know." 

"  But  what  shall  we  do?  If  we  split  we  are  too  weak 
for  either  party.  If  we  go  together  we  may  fall  upon  the 
wrong  one. ' ' 

"Me  say  split.  Big  heap  warrior  bot'  way.  No  mind. 
All  sleep,  all  5ick,  one  wake  so  goot  as  two  sleep.  All 
sick,  crawl  to  brook,  drink.  Heap  drink,  mo'  dry  as 
two  fish." 

"Very  well;  give  me  my  squad,  with  the  five  scouts 
who  cut  us  loose,  and  we  will  take  the  short  trail.  But 
how  much  time  do  you  want  to  get  back  to  the  Pines  ? 
We  must  wait  till  then. ' ' 

' '  Half  time  gone — so  long.     Cap' n  know. ' ' 

"Half  the  time  it  took  you  to  follow  the  trail  and 
return?  Is  that  it  ?  " 

•'You  guess.  All  goot,  Cap'n  wait;"  and  with  a 
wave  of  his  tomahawk  the  twenty  warriors  of  his  squad 
fell  in  behind  him  and  disappeared  among  the  birch  trees 
through  which  Wandee  had  returned. 

The  captain  now  selected  a  young  warrior,  one  of  the 
five  scouts,  an  Indian  who  had  guided  the  rescuing  party 
at  Washakim,  and  after  waiting  the  prescribed  half 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  249 

hour,  for  Wandee's  advance,  the  Indians  fell  behind  the 
young  warrior  and  started  on  the  trail  that  led  to  the 
pond. 

The  trail  had  been  followed  at  a  slow  pace  but  a  few 
minutes  when  the  new  leader  halted,  and  falling  back 
beside  the  captain  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Injun  here.  No 
go  much  fur.  All  sick.  Me  go  'lone,  see  all — come 
back."  And  with  that  he  glided  noiselessly  as  a  snake 
into  the  thicket  and  was  lost  to  sight  and  sound.  He 
was  gone  but  a  moment,  and  returning  reported  an 
encampment  just  around  the  brow  of  the  hill  and  on  the 
shore  of  the  pond. 

Ever}7  preparation  was  now  made  for  an  assault,  and 
as  the  moonlight  streaming  over  the  hill  tops  whitened 
half  the  surface  of  the  water,  leaving  the  remainder  of 
pond  and  hill  blacker  for  its  brightness,  a  rush  was  made 
for  the  centre  of  the  camp,  and  an  indiscriminate 
slaughter  commenced. 

The  Ontarios,  dazed  with  surprise  at  the  suddenness 
of  the  onslaught,  and  stupefied  by  the  lingering  effects  of 
the  previous  night's  debauch,  were  long  in  rallying  with 
anything  like  effect.  Indeed  they  did  not  rally,  save 
here  and  there  in  groups,  but  such  bands  or  knots  fought 
with  the  ferocity  of  wounded  wildcats.  Fought  like 
furies,  but  half  at  random,  often  mistaking  their  own 
men  for  their  assailants.  The  Hill  Indians  made  no 
mistakes,  except  in  the  initiatory  movement;  but  what 
could  a  brook  against  an  avalanche  ?  They  had  under- 
taken too  much.  They  should  have  relied  more  upon 


250  DOOM   OF   WASKAKIM. 

stealth  and  artifice  and  less  upon  prowess.  They  were 
turned  and  twisted  like  individuals  in  a  popular  panic, 
were  rocked  and  rolled  in  blind  obedience  to  a  blinder 
surge.  They  became  cloyed  of  useless  killing.  They 
could  nowhere  find  the  women.  As  yet,  not  one  of  them 
was  badly  hurt,  although  not  one  escaped  contusion. 
Men  whose  heavy  chests  had  rarely  responded  with 
heaving  to  an  irksome  task,  now  panted  like  oxen  over- 
spent. But  still  they  kept  on,  and  every  now  and  then 
some  sharp  report  of  firearms  cleft  its  way  along  the 
answering  wind  to  meet  its  countersound  that  came  like 
echo  from  the  distant  pines.  The  single  rifle  carried  by 
each  of  the  attacking  parties  was  the  only  signal  that 
each  was  busy  with  its  feast  of  death. 

An  alarm  was  sounded  by  a  Hill  Indian. 

"  Cap'n  down;  Wigwam!  Wigwam!"  and  nineteen 
answering  voices  shouted  "Wigwam!" 

There  was  a  knot  of  struggling  men — there  was  a 
circle  of  swinging  tomahawks  that  encompassed  it. 
Whoops  and  yells  on  every  hand  told  of  dazed  Indians 
groping  in  the  shadow  of  old  'Bumskit,  slaughtering 
their  own  kith  and  kin  as  the  knot  and  circle  made  its  way 
out  of  the  thick  of  the  melee,  out  of  the  general  riot  into 
the  deeper  darkness  of  the  forest  and  along  the  ridge  that 
stretches  away  toward  Rattlesnake  Hill  on  the  southeast. 

The  Hill  Indians  were  again  out  of  the  turmoil  and 
burying  themselves  deeper  and  deeper  in  the  forest.  But 
the  Northmen  would  miss  them  and  soon  be  upon  their 
trail,  if  any  was  discernible.  Indian  art  must  again 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  25! 

assert  itself.  To  follow  one  trail  would  be  easy.  To 
follow  ten  might  lead  to  mistake.  If  the  ten  left  but  one 
chance  in  the  number  to  follow  the  senseless,  bleeding 
form  of  the  wounded  white  man,  it  left  but  confusion 
when  half  the  trails  were  made  by  two  or  three  fugitives 
abreast,  as  its  necessity  or  purpose  became  a  woodman's 
enigma. 

The  Hill  Indians  scattered  like  turkeys  startled  by  the 
report  of  a  hunter's  rifle,  but  the  route  was  quickly 
developed  into  system.  The  young  scout  was  more  than 
a  warrior — was  an  accomplished  tactician. 

And  all  this  while  the  Pines  had  been  the  scene  of  a 
pandemonium.  The  subtle  chief  had  led  his  braves 
unobserved  to  the  very  spot,  to  the  square  rod  upon 
which  lay,  wrapped  each  in  an  Indian  blanket,  the 
exhausted  white  sleepers — the  four  Sergents.  The  fifth, 
the  baby,1  had  been  slaughtered  by  a  savage  on  the  way. 
The  child  had  been  carried  in  the  arms  of  its  wayworn 
mother.  The  infant  moaned,  the  mother  groaned,  and 
the  Indian  dismissed  the  encumbrance. 

In  the  circle  about  the  captives,  close  as  men  can  lie, 
were  sleeping  Indians. 

As  steals  the  prowling  woodscat  on  its  prey,  and  with  a 
step  as  noiseless,  Wandee  had  entered  the  charmed  circle, 
and  five  picked  braves  had  followed,  while  their  com- 
panions crouched  outside  awaiting  their  chief's  success  or 

1The  mother  lagged  from  exhaustion.  An  Indian  took  the 
child,  tomahawked  it  and  cast  it  aside. 


252  DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM. 

his  signal  for  an  onslaught.  He  had  contrived  to  awaken 
the  women,  without  a  sound  that  would  disturb  a  drows- 
ing hare.  He  had  used  some  necromancy — charm,  some 
name,  some  spell  of  witchcraft,  may  be,  and  had  led  them 
out  of  the  circle  of  the  guard.  But  they  are  scarcely  out 
when  little  Netty  stumbles  over  a  sleeper  in  the  darkness, 
and  the  pantomime  has  ended  in  an  opening  tragedy. 

The  stout  arm  of  Wandee  has  caught  up  Susan,  but  at 
the  moment  an  Indian  intercepts  him.  Is  it  an  Indian  ? 
Paint,  forest  shadows  and  dusky  moonlight  combined  are 
insufficient  to  cheat  the  searching  eye  of  the  Quinsigamond. 
Two  tomahawks  meet  in  the  air,  and  Eugene  Archer's 
glances  and  flies  off,  while  he  reels,  and  his  blood  spurts 
full  in  the  face  of  the  Indian.  The  name  of  Wandee, 
and  an  Knglish  curse  are  the  only  retort,  as  the  sound  of 
flying  feet  bearing  the  precious  burden  dies  away  in  the 
pines  far  up  the  hillside. 

The  child  and  the  two  remaining  women  are  being 
carried  by  strong  arms,  but  against  overwhelming  opposi- 
tion, for  the  Ontarios  have  swarmed  like  bees  upon  them, 
and  the  Hill  men  are  battling  a  living  wall.  It  was  the 
Merrimac  against  the  sea;  what  could  it  avail?  Torn 
and  tossed,  stripped  of  their  living  booty,  five  of  them 
down  in  their  moccasins,  what  could  the  fifteen  do  ?  The 
wounded  men,  screened  by  the  darkness,  creep  to  a 
thicket  and  are  gone.  Three  more  shoot  down  the  brook 
to  the  far  away  Quinnapoxit.  Some  fly  along  the  ridge 
west  of  Tehassit,  some  are  gone,  no  one  knows  whither; 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  253 

gone  where  Indians  dazed  with  fire-water  can  never  find 
them.     Gone  with  their  scalps. 

And  the  girl  of  Sagatabscot  is  again  free,  but  her 
rescuer  knows  not  himself  which  way  to  fly  for  safety. 
Can  her  freedom  be  maintained  ?  Will  she  escape  her 
swift  pursuers?  and  can  her  red  gallant  break  the  cordon 
and  set  her  feet  upon  the  soil  of  Wigwam  ? 


CHAPTER  XXI. 
THE  FLIGHT. 

BLIND  rage  succeeded  the  bewilderment  of  the  previous 
night,  when,  at  daybreak,  it  was  ascertained  by  a  close 
examination  of  the  incoming  trails,  that  a  mere  handful 
of  warriors  had  not  only  slain  many  of  their  best  men, 
but  had  created  a  panic  still  more  fatal,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  rescue  of  a  prisoner  whose  beauty  had  already  so  far 
compromised  her  safety  that  the  closest  watch  and  con- 
stant attendance  of  the  head  chief  had  been  necessary  to 
protect  her  from  insult  if  not  from  outrage.  Upon  her 
appearance  in  Tehassit  as  a  captive,  she  had  been  claimed 
by  the  rude  Ontario  chief  as  his  especial,  individual 
property,  notwithstanding  his  engagement  with, and  prom- 
ise to,  Archer. 

L,ong  before  daylight  the  chiefs  at  Asnebumskit  had 
been  to  the  Pines  to  compare  notes.  It  was  not,  however, 
until  sunrise  that  the  fact  stared  them  in  the  face  that 
not  more  than  two  score  men  had  wrought  greater  havoc 
with  their  numbers  than  had  resulted  from  all  the  casual- 
ties that  had  been  met  since  they  crossed  the  head  of 
L,ake  Ontario.  Indeed  they  had  been  seriously  reduced 
in  the  number  of  fighting  men,  as  not  only  had  very 
many  been  killed  outright,  but  the  score  of  badly  wounded 


DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM.  255 

was  such  as  would  necessitate  some  days  delay  in  the 
homeward  march. 

To  aggravate  this  beyond  endurance,  not  a  scalp  could 
be  counted  as  part  compensation  for  their  loss;  as,* 
although  they  seemed  to  know  that  some  of  their  assail- 
ants had  been  killed,  yet  they  must  have  secured  their 
own  scalps,  for  not  a  friend  remained  to  secrete  them, 
none  could  have  carried  them  away,  and  still  not  a 
stranger's  face  could  be  found  in  all  that  tally  of  the 
dead. 

The  truth  was,  none  had  been  killed,  nor  even  wounded 
beyond  the  possibility  of  taking  themselves  out  of  the 
insane  melee  that  was  raging.  The  northern  Indians, 
thanks  to  rum,  surprise  and  darkness,  had  done  most  of 
their  own  killing.  But  the  extreme  physical  efforts  of 
the  night  had  expelled  their  worst  enemy  through  the 
pores  of  the  skin.  They  were  no  longer  under  the  in- 
fluence of  alcoholic  stimulant,  nor  subject  to  the  after 
stupefaction  of  its  fumes.  They  could  now  think  like 
sane  men. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  guess  out  the  little  tribe  that  had 
inflicted  this  terrible  chastisement,  even  if  the  sober  eyes 
of  Archer  had  not  testified  to  its  reality,  for  Archer  was 
by  no  means  among  the  dead,  although  he  was  suffering 
from  a  wound  that  would  forever  disfigure  his  cheek  and 
scalp.  Never  mind,  Eugene,  you  will  have  but  little 
further  use  for  beauty. 

Only  the  Hill  Indians  could  be  guilty  of  this  slaughter, 
and  the  Northmen  in  solemn  council  determined  they 


256  DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM. 

would  never  again  see  Ontario  until  they  could  wear  the 
best  of  the  Quinsigamond  scalps  in  their  girdles.  But 
how  were  they  to  get  possession  of  them  ?  Did  the 
Northmen  dare  to  beard  the  lion  in  his  den  ?  To  face  two 
hundred  warriors  in  their  own  stronghold,  after  a  hand- 
ful, only  two  score  of  their  warriors,  had  at  the  same 
time  entered  two  hostile  camps  and  managed  to  kill  twice 
their  own  number  and  not  leave  a  scalp  ? 

There  was,  however,  a  recourse.  Already  part  of 
their  band  was  aiding  the  Twin  Lake  chief  to  crush  out 
the  Wigwam  Indians,  and  they  would  make  the  result 
doubly  sure  by  joining  forces  with  them.  Tehuanto  had 
said  he  held  captive  the  chief  of  the  Quinsigamonds,  and 
also  a  white  man,  his  friend,  and  the  white  man  was  a 
great  warrior;  said  that  he  was  keeping  his  captives  for 
torture;  and  although  Archer  had  declared  that  he  held  a 
hand-to-hand  encounter  with  the  red  chief  at  the  hill  of 
Pines  only  the  night  before,  and  was  indebted  to  Wandee 
and  none  other  for  the  hideous  scalp  and  cheek  wound, 
yet  his  say-so  went  for  naught,  or  at  best  for  a  mistake  in 
recognition,  for  within  a  day  they  had  parted  company 
with  the  Washakim,  and  it  was  then  he  had  spoken 
exultingly  of  his  famous  captives.  How  were  the  two 
statements  so  much  at  variance  to  be  reconciled  ?  The 
white  man  must  have  been  the  victim  of  bewilderment, 
the  result  of  surprise  and  uncertainty  of  vision  in  the 
darkness. 

With  their  great  leader  and  the  valorous  white  man  no 
longer  to  lead   them,  they  might  possibly,  indeed  they 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  257 

had  already  done  some  severe  skirmishing,  but  they 
could  never  stand  a  siege. 

Nothing  was  now  to  be  gained  by  throwing  out  trail- 
ers. Enough  were  already  out,  and  as  some  hours  had 
passed  since  the  night  attack,  it  was  now  too  late.  Some 
had  returned,  but  brought  no  intelligence,  brought 
nothing  but  tidings  of  trails  found  only  to  be  lost  again. 
Trails  lost  like  bird  tracks,  as  if  the  makers  had  stepped 
off  into  the  trackless  air.  The  war  party  must  move 
back  upon  the  plantation.  But  first  they  must  bury 
their  dead,  for  no  Indian  ever,  except  to  save  his  own 
scalp,  left  his  comrade  for  crows  and  foxes  to  wrangle 
over;  and  to  dig  ninety  graves  was  no  trifling  task. 

The  graves  were  dug — dug  in  the  earth  with  toma- 
hawks and  knives,  and  sharpened  sticks,  and  with  human 
fingers.  And  ninety  warriors,  stark  and  stiff,  were  bent 
into  a  sitting  posture,  facing  the  sunrise,  with  their  arms 
beside  them,  and  with  roots  and  corn  cakes  and  berries 
for  their  journeys  need — sitting  bolt  upright,  waiting  for 
that  after-dawn.  Ninety  Indian  warriors,  who  three 
hours  ago  clawed  at  turf  and  twig  in  desperation  lest 
they  should  lose  their  hold  upon  terrestrial  things,  now 
sat  as  mute,  as  meek  and  motionless,  as  if  their  earthly 
parts,  spirit-driven,  had  never  leaped  to  the  wild  notes 
of  discord. 

Animated  with  the  spirit  of  revenge,  the  Ontarios  pre- 
pared to  retrace  their  steps  and  to  reinforce  the  already 
numerous  body  that  was  awaiting  orders  to  advance  upon 
the  no  less  feared  than  hated  Hill  tribe. 


258  DOOM   OF     WASHAKIM. 

Many  of  the  trailers  were  still  out,  but  they  would  in 
time  fall  back  into  the  main  body  on  its  way. 

They  had  made  mistakes  fatal  to  pursuit,  both  at 
Asnebumskit  and  the  Pines  and — We  must  shift  the 
scene. 

When  the  young  captain  was  struck  down  in  the  fight 
at  the  pond  and  the  attack  was  so  summarily  ended,  he 
was  carried,  as  has  been  said,  along  the  ridge  south  of 
Asnebumskit.  The  young  warrior  whose  conduct  had  so 
valiantly  confirmed  the  white  man's  judgment  of  his 
parts,  had  so  skillfully  managed  the  retreat  that  his  own 
route  and  the  way  of  the  white  man  left  but  a  single 
trail  for  half  a  mile,  when  one  was  added,  and  in  the 
course  of  a  mile  four  more  separate,  converging  trails 
increased  the  little  party  to  seven  in  number  (one  of 
which  left  no  trail  whatever),  to  be  again  lost,  all  save 
one,  until  they  come  to  the  little  brook, — the  Rattlesnake, 
running  due  east  into  the  Tehassit,  and  when  the  seven 
men  were  joined  again  it  was  after  wading  the  Rattle- 
snake to  near  the  summit  of  the  hill,  the  place  designated 
at  the  outset  as  the  rendezvous. 

And  so  the  young  warrior  and  his  charge  escaped.  He 
had  borne  his  senseless  burden,  being  spelled  by  whiles, 
as  by  preconcertion  his  trail  was  crossed  or  met,  only  to 
resume  it  after  a  running  rest,  through  the  six  miles  of 
forest.  They  had  reached  the  ragged,  ledgy,  boulder- 
ridden  eastern  slope  of  Rattlesnake  Hill  and  were  com- 
paratively safe. 


DOOM   OF  WASHAKIM.  259 

But  one  other  spot  so  wild  and  unfrequented  could 
have  been  found  this  side  of  Wachusett,  and  that  spot  was 
Stone  House  Hill, — the  point  aimed  at  by  Wandee  when 
he  scrambled  up  the  Hill  of  Pines  with  his  fair  burden. 

Among  the  rocks  at  Rattlesnake,  now  that  their 
pursuers  had  been  beguiled  into  following  other  and 
purposely  deceptive  trails,  the  little  party  and  their 
wounded  charge  might  rest,  as  nothing  on  the  hill  in  the 
way  of  game  offered  an  inducement  even  to  the  near-at- 
hand  Tehassits  to  approach,  while  its  crouching,  fierce, 
and  treacherous  ordinary  denizens,  the  yellow  rattler, 
and  the  brindled,  short-tailed  prowler  with  the  tufted 
ears,  tendered  no  hospitable  greeting,  nor  tolerated 
obtrusion,  except,  when  awed  by  numbers,  temporary 
retreat  was  seeming  acquiescence. 

The  hill  served  nature  merely  as  a  corral  to  which  the 
higher  brutes  might  round  up  brutish  abominations.  It 
was  a  lair  for  lynxes,  snakes  and  wildcats,  numbers  of 
which  harbored  among  the  rocks,  while  here  and  there  a 
bald  eagle  built  his  nest  secure  among  the  tangles  of  the 
gloomy  hemlocks;  and  here,  as  at  Stone  House  Hill  and 
on  the  east  brow  of  Wachusett,  the  great  yellow  rattler 
held  undisputed  dominion  over  rock  and  turf. 

But  these  otherwise  waste  acres,  with  their  stinted 
patches  of  alluvium,  were  rich  in  herbage  of  the  character 
resorted  to  by  the  primitive  race  for  medicinal  virtues, 
and  the  Indians,  whose  renown  as  warriors  must  consist 
as  much  in  their  skill  to  heal  as  to  inflict  wounds,  were 


260  DOOM    OF    WASHAKIM. 

not  slow  in   ransacking  the  hillsides  and   culling  herbs 
that  might  serve  them  in  their  present  need. 

The  captain  had  recovered  consciousness  with  the  first 
hour's  rest,  and  it  was  ascertained  that  his  hurts  were 
limited  to  severe  contusions  on  the  back  and  head,  the 
effect  of  clubbing,  rather  than  of  the  more  usual  imple- 
ments of  Indian  warfare.  A  few  day's  rest,  and  the 
frequent  application  of  bruised  herbs,  promised  a  speedy 
restoration  to  normal  health  and  vigor.  And  here  we 
leave  him  to  discover  what  has  become  of  Wandee,  for  no 
weaver  ever  followed  loom  but  must  take  up  his  broken 
threads  or  spoil  his  warp. 

When  it  was  learned  by  the  Hill  Indians  at  the  Pines 
that  the  women  of  the  Sergent  family  were  there,  every 
other  consideration, — revenge,  booty,  glory,  scalps  even, 
all  were  merged  in  the  sole  determination  to  effect  a 
rescue.  Cap'n  John  should  learn  for  once  that  an  Indian 
can  be  gallant  as  well  as  revengeful  and  bloody.  The 
reader  already  knows  how  nearly  they  approached  com- 
plete success.  But  for  the  fatal  stumble  of  the  child,  the 
morning  would  have  found  the  prisoners  free  lodgers  at 
Wigwam  Hill,  for  a  safe  but  narrow  passage  through 
the  lines  had  been  disclosed  to  them  by  the  Packachoags, 
and  already  once  taken  advantage  of. 

But  fate  was  against  them,  and  in  a  moment  they 
were  battling  for  their  lives  against  ten  times  their  num- 
ber. 

We  have  heard  the  rustling  of  twigs,  heard  the  crack- 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  261 

ling  of  dry  boughs  under  foot,  and  have  seen  Wandee 
dash  out  of  the  semi-darkness  into  the  denser  blackness 
of  shadow  at  the  Hill  of  Pines  with  the  prime  object  of 
his  mission  within  his  grasp. 

He  lost  no  time  in  burying  himself  deeper  and  deeper 
in  the  protecting  gloom  of  the  forest,  until  the  shrieks  of 
battle  died  away  in  whispers  upon  his  ear.  But  although 
a  strong  arm  might,  unassisted,  carry  a  woman  for  a 
mile,  it  was  unequal  to  a  much  greater  task.  The  foot 
of  the  highland  that  forms  the  base  of  Asnebumskit  on 
the  east  had  been  reached  at  a  point  overlooking  the 
meadow  that  skirts  the  precipitous  west  side  of  Stone 
House  Hill.1  Below  him  was  the  meadow  and  Tehassit 
Brook.  Beyond,  Stone  House  looks  over  'Bumskit. 

Overtasked  nature  now  rebelled  at  the  extortion,  and 
the  warrior  staggered — tottered — fell.  Fell  without  a 
spoken  word.  Fell  in  a  swoon, — the  effect  of  drawing 
upon  his  muscular  account  to  the  last  item  of  the  spirit's 
credit.  But  the  woman  was  there,  the  brook,  the  cool 
of  the  morning,  and  a  heart  still  undismayed  beneath 
life's  retiring  symbols.  The  woman,  the  water,  the  air 
and  the  unconquerable  stomach  of  the  Indian  revived  him 
just  in  time  to  see  the  glimmer  of  daylight  over  Stone 
House.  Just  in  time  to  hear  a  shrill  screech  upon  the 
western  hill  side.  It  might  be  a  screech  owl  just  at 
hand,  scolding  at  the  hasty  sunlight  that  robbed  her  of 
her  sighted  feast.  It  might  be  a  lynx  snarling  at  the 

JThe  meadow  is  now  the  bed  of  one  of  Worcester's  reservoirs. 


262  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

tardy  hare,  that  kept  its  burrow  and  prolonged  his  fast. 
But  the  Indian  knew  better;  knew  it  was  neither;  knew 
it  was  an  Indian  upon  a  new-found  trail,  giving  tongue 
like  a  wolf  to  encourage  his  mates  as  he  unsnarls  a 
double  by  scenting  a  divergence.  Every  muscle  of  the 
sturdy  chief  was  swelling  for  another  effort.  He  was  on 
his  feet.  He  reached  forward  to  take  the  little  white 
woman  in  his  arms,  but  she  beckoned  him  on  toward 
the  hill,  speaking  for  the  first  time  since  she  crossed  the 
impounding  circle  at  the  Hill  of  Pines. 

"  Go  on,  Wandee.  I  will  follow.  I  could  chase  a  fawn 
across  my  father's  fields,  and  I  can  follow  an  Indian  for 
an  hour." 

Smiling  from  under  his  low  brow,  with  his  large  black 
eyes,  while  his  compressed  lips  seemed  unready  to  simi- 
larly respond,  he  said  : 

' '  Brave,  leetle  squaw  !  ' ' 

And  shutting  together  his  heavy  jaws,  while  the  kind- 
ling eyes  relapsed  into  a  scowl  that  darkened  with 
determination  over  his  high  cheek  bones,  the  once  more 
savage  whirled,  and  with  a  sweeping  stride  went  for  the 
bald  face  of  Stone  House  just  where  the  brook  used  to 
break  at  the  declivity  and  rush  away  in  the  fast  falling 
rapids  below.  Bald,  it  was,  indeed,  but  here  and  there  a 
rock  crevice,  a  ledge,  or  a  foot  of  earth  lodged  by  some 
ancient  land  slide,  or  deposited  by  that  great  glacier  that 
hung  for  ages  choking  the  ravine,  gave  root  room  to  a 
scraggy,  leaning  hemlock,  and  the  hemlock  served  the 
double  purpose  of  partially  screening  the  fugitives  in  the 


DOOM  OF  WASHAKIM.  263 

ascent  and  aiding  hand  and  foot  in  climbing  the  rough 
ledges.  When  near  the  summit  the  Indian  halted  and 
beckoning  Susan  behind  a  boulder  to  secure  her  from 
observation,  availed  himself  of  the  now  open  day  to 
reconnoiter. 

The  passing  Indians,  ten  in  number,  whose  wild 
whoop  had  startled  the  fugitives,  descended  the  hill  side 
and  turned  abruptly  toward  Tehassit,  evidently  upon  a 
trail,  but  probably  that  of  one  of  their  own  men  whose 
nimbler  foot  or  less  devious  course  had  placed  him  far  in 
advance  of  his  fellows. 

Their  mistake,  if  mistake  it  was,  left  Wandee  and  his 
prize  secure,  for  the  present  at  least,  provided  they 
could  endure  remaining  in  the  quarters  they  then  occu- 
pied until  some  propitious  circumstance  occurring  should 
seem  to  warrant  the  attempt  to  pass  the  lines  which  at 
present  barred  their  further  progress.  But  something 
more  than  immunity  from  danger  of  rambling  feet  and 
prying  eyes  must  be  provided  for.  If  the  woods  were 
full  of  Indians,  as  he  suspected,  they  might  be  compelled 
to  remain  where  they  were  for  some  days,  in  which  event 
the  woman  must  have  food  and  shelter. 

For  a  white  man  to  have  constructed  a  temporary 
dwelling  in  the  midst  of  acres  of  rocky  debris  would 
have  been  no  serious  task.  But  what  could  a  warrior 
know  of  labor,  beyond  the  skill  requisite  in  fashioning 
an  oar,  or  a  canoe,  or  perhaps  his  bow  and  arrow?  He 
did  not  construct  his  own  wigwan,  nor  even  plant  or  har- 
vest his  corn,  but  left  it  to  the  squaws  to  do  for  him. 


264  DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM. 

A  red  squaw  might  upon  this  occasion  have  been  put 
to  the  task,  but  this  was  a  white  squaw.  A  squaw  whose 
finger  tips  were  delicate  as  the  petals  of  the  white  pond 
lily,  whose  lovely  skin  was  tinged  with  autumn  sunsets, 
whose  lips  were  red  like  the  red  of  barberry,  a  neck  and 
forehead  crowned  her  person,  bleached  to  the  snow  cap's 
hue  upon  the  great  Penobscot  mountain,  and  her  eyes 
seemed  cut  from  the  sapphire  of  the  blue  dome  of  space. 
What  could  the  white  squaw  do  ?  She  was  the  idol  of 
the  grand  captain  and — so  the  white  parson  had  said — 
was  made  in  the  image  of  God.  And  who  is  God  but  He 
who  whispers  in  the  wind  and  bellows  in  the  storm  ?  He 
whom  the  mother  of  our  tribe,  the  Witch  of  Wigwam 
holds  communion  with — the  Great  Spirit?  The  white 
squaw  must  have  a  lodge,  and  the  chief  of  the  Quinsiga- 
monds  is  none  too  good  to  build  it  for  her. 

The  early  white  settlers,  parties  to  the  second  settle- 
ment of  Worcester,  found  upon  the  summit  of  this  hill,  a 
rude  stone  cabin — the  same  occupied  a  century  later  by 
fugitive  Royalists,  and  it  was  this  structure  that  gave  the 
hill  its  name.  A  cabin  thrown  together  by  arms  grown 
sinewy  through  war  and  chase;  sinews  that  found  a  motor 
in  deference  to  beauty  and  bravery  in  another  race.  It 
was  a  king's  offering  at  the  shrine  of  animated  splendor. 

The  cabin  completed,  the  task  of  a  day,  with  the  hours 
taken  from  two,  for  in  the  meantime  snares  must  be  set, 
snares  strung  with  the  braids  of  the  coarse  black  hair  of 
the  Indian's  scalp. 

Four  days  had  passed,  as  early  one  morning  down  by 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  265 

the  brook  Wandee  jumped  to  cover  at  the  sound  of  voices. 
Some  praying  Packachoags  were  passing,  and  apparently 
hunting  closely  for  something  other  than  game.  Nothing 
a  Hill  Indian  could  better  trust  than  one  of  these  peace- 
ful, quiet-loving  neighbors,  with  whom  they  had  for 
generations  lived  in  the  utmost  harmony,  even  inter- 
marrying. Indeed,  Wandee  himself,  although  reared  at 
Wigwam,  was  a  born  Packachoag,  son  of  Sagamore  John 
by  a  squaw  of  Wigwam. 

As  they  passed  where  the  chief  lay  concealed,  they 
stopped  short,  looked  into  one  another's  faces  question  - 
ingly,  as  if  some  new  light  was  breaking  in  upon  them, 
and  stooping  to  the  earth,  examined  the  yet  dewy  sod. 
A  moment's  scrutiny  sufficed  to  satisfy  them,  or  at  least 
to  awaken  surmises  approximating  to  certainty,  and  in  a 
low  voice  they  pronounced  the  name  of  Wandee. 

It  is  not  likely  that  any  peculiarity  of  footprint  or  trail 
that  the  chief  had  left  led  them  to  the  suspicion,  but 
rather  the  certainty  that  it  was  made  by  a  skulker,  added 
to  the  fact  that  the  chief,  of  whom  they  were  in  search, 
was  uppermost  in  their  minds. 

However  it  might  have  happened,  Wandee  stepped 
from  his  hiding  place  and  was  warmly  greeted  in  the 
Nipnet  tongue. 

It  required  but  a  moment  to  acquaint  him  with  the  fact 
that  the  captain  was  alive  and  safely  lodged  at  Rattle- 
snake Hill  with  six  warriors.  That  all  of  the  forty  who 
were  engaged  in  the  midnight  adventure,  except  those  at 
Rattlesnake,  had  within  two  days  made  their  way  into 


266  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

the  home  lodge,  and  that  throughout  the  woods  between 
Stone  House  and  the  I/ake  were  scattered  parties  of  the 
northern  tribes,  watching  every  avenue  by  which  a  fugi- 
tive might  reach  the  Hill,  for  they  were  thoroughly 
persuaded  that  several  of  them  were  still  lurking  in  the 
woods. 

Now  that  the  Packachoags  had  accomplished  the  pur- 
pose of  their  long  search,  they  turned  their  steps  down 
the  brook  and  were  soon  lost  to  sight. 

Their  first  object  now  was  to  acquaint  the  white  man's 
party  with  their  success,  and  to  do  this  without  creating 
suspicion  that  might  lead  to  detection  was  no  simple  task. 

Following  Tehassit  Brook  between  banks  thickly  grown 
with  hazel  and  black  alder,  wading  the  stream  for  the 
entire  distance,  until,  at  a  point  near  the  old  Mohawk 
path,  or  way  to  Springfield  settlement,  they  came  to  the 
little  Rattlesnake  Brook,  and  following  this,  still  keeping 
the  water  bed,  they  had  eluded  even  the  suspicion  of  a 
trail,  except  for  a  single,  private  mishap,  and  were  with- 
in the  captain's  temporary  lodge. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  WOMAN   IN   PERIL. 

UP  to  this  time  the  captain  had  hardly  a  hope  that  any 
of  the  Sergent  family  had  been  saved.  Certain  it  was 
no  one  of  Wandee's  party  knew  of  his  escape  with  the 
woman,  although  within  a  few  feet  of  him  when  he  dis- 
appeared in  the  forest  at  Pine  Hill.  The  darkness  of  the 
pine  shadows  had  done  as  much  to  hide  his  movements 
from  his  friends  as  from  his  enemies. 

That  Wandee  had  not  returned  to  Wigwam  was  of 
course  known  to  the  Packachoags,  and  through  them 
ever}7  condition  and  movement  at  the  Hill,  the  plantation 
ruins,  and  throughout  the  cordon  which  had  remained  now 
for  six  days  without  an  advance  was  made  known  at  Rat- 
tlesnake, for  the  praying  Indians  of  Packachoag  were 
regarded  by  the  Northmen  as  feeble,  inoffensive  creatures, 
who  cared  more  for  a  good  dinner  than  for  a  green  scalp, 
and  as  such,  were  in  a  manner  despised,  while  at  the  same 
time  savage  superstition  wrought  in  their  behalf,  so  much 
so  that  their  persons  were  in  a  degree  respected  as  sacred, 
they  being  by  profession  agents  and  representatives  of 
the  man  God,  whom  they  claimed  to  be,  in  their  lax  ortho- 
dox mode  of  expression,  one  and  the  same  with  the  Great 
Spirit.  This  innocent  play  upon  heathen  credulity  found 


268  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

recompense  in  something  like  affiliation  and  made  their 
presence  tolerable,  even  at  the  Northmen's  council  fires. 

The  praying  Packachoags  could  go  back  and  forth,  up 
and  down,  scarcely  noticed,  except  at  such  times  as  they 
fell  into  religious  exhortations,  when  they  were  usually  dis- 
missed with  a  contemptuous  grunt  or  left  to  bestow  the 
residue  of  a  sermon  upon  the  wind. 

Now  that  it  was  revealed  at  Rattlesnake  not  only  that 
Wandee  was  still  alive,  but  that  he  had  in  present  safe 
keeping  that  life  of  all  others  on  which  the  white  man 
doted,  the  captain  reconciled  himself  in  a  measure  to  his 
temporary  confinement;  not,  however,  without  frequent 
impulses  to  hazard  life  by  some  midnight  venture  in  the 
direction  of  Stone  House  Hill.  But  against  such  a  propo- 
sition the  Indians  set  their  faces  with  a  determination 
unusual  to  their  race,  when  in  opposition  to  the  whites. 
They  would  hear  nothing  of  it.  They  had  so  far  managed 
with  a  discretion  that  had  elicited  commendation  from 
the  white  chief,  and  now  he  would  himself  render  abor- 
tive all  their  efforts,  all  their  pains,  and  compromise  the 
safety  of  all,  merely  to  gratify  his  wish  to  look  for  a 
moment  upon  his  young  squaw. 

It  needed  not  half  the  argument  to  convince  him  of  the 
error,  and  to  dissuade  him  from  the  undertaking,  for  in 
fact  the  impulse  had  never  approximated  to  actuation.  It 
was  the  mere  desire,  a  passing  notion  that  found  expres- 
sion in  a  careless  word,  as  when  one  says  "I  think,"  but 
actually  does  no  such  a  thing,  and  is  merely  conscious  of 
a  passing  notion, — is  the  idle,  passive  spectator  to  a  mental 
panorama. 


DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM.  269 

Where,  above  the  ledges,  the  broad  acres  of  Rattle- 
snake hilltop  stretch  away  to  the  western  slope  that  sheds 
its  waters  into  the  Lynde1  (that  was),  when  these  acres 
were  covered  with  the  sturdy  primeval  growth  of  forest 
trees,  and  the  soil  was  so  shaded  that  evaporation  was 
in  a  great  degree  retarded,  the  little  brook  that  falls  to 
eastward,  the  pathway  of  the  Packachoags,  was  a  rushing 
flume  of  ice  cold  water  gathered  from  a  hundred  springs 
that  bubbled  up  among  the  rocks  and  trickled  into  shady 
pools  edged  with  mint  and  saw  grass,  and  the  broad- 
leafed  fern,  with  here  and  there  a  flock  of  maiden' s-hair, 
and  creeping  upward  and  athwart  from  bush  to  bough 
the  trailing  clematis  reached  outward  to  where  the  sleepy 
sunlight  bathed  for  one  hour  the  yellow  cowslips  that 
waltzed  among  the  eddying  waves  above  a  bottom  paved 
with  pungent  water  cresses.  Then  by  the  side  of  rotting 
logs,  the  windfalls  of  a  century  back,  from  thickets  of 
elder,  alder,  and  sumach,  the  grouse  (the  partridge  of  New 
England)  was  sure  to  pop  out  with  a  running  burst,  a 
whirr,  and  disappearance,  unless  the  snare  you  set  an 
hour  before  left  him  dangling  between  twig  and  turf. 
And  by  the  side  of  brook  and  spring  and  water-pockets, 
between  the  roots  of  trees  and  under  thorns  sprayed  with 
sweet  red  berries,  or  beneath  hazel  or  black  alder,  where 
worms  might  bore,  were  woodcock  and  jacksnipe,  pecking 
if  not  being  pecked  at,  by  the  sharp  arrows  of  the  crouch- 
ing hunters  who  were  collecting  material  to  make  an 
evening  repast  for  the  always  hungry  Pachachoags. 

1  Lynde  Brook  that  was,  now  Leicester  reservoir. 


270  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

A  bed  of  red  hot  coals,  and  large  flat  stones  nearly  as 
hot,  and  green  walnut  spits  stuck  in  the  ground  and 
leaning  over  the  bed  of  coals,  are  waiting  for  the  hunters 
to  come  in.  Partridges,  hares,  quails,  and  trout  dangling 
alive  upon  the  birchen  twigs,  just  as  the  Indians  had 
dragged  them  with  their  hands  from  under  the  banks,  or 
driven  into  corrals  in  the  rocky  brook  bed,  were  the 
hunters'  recompense.  And  as  the  spitted  toasting  game 
fries  and  sputters  fat  upon  the  coals,  we  will  without 
ceremony  shift  the  scene. 

Wounded  Northmen  to  the  number  of  fifty  had  been 
left  at  Asnebumskit  Pond  after  the  midnight  affray,  un- 
able at  once  to  retire  to  Tehassit,  and  many  of  them 
lingering  between  life  and  death,  and  for  the  purpose  of 
seeing  them  cared  for  as  circumstances  would  permit,  and 
as  the  final  blow  at  Wigwam  Hill  was  yet  delayed,  the 
Ontario  chief  proposed  to  Tehuanto  to  accompany  him  to 
the  sick  men's  camp,  for  company's  sake. 

As  the  two  chiefs  were  passing  up  the  valley  of  Te- 
hassit with  a  company  of  ten  warriors,  drawn  equally 
from  the  forces  of  each,  a  sort  of  unnecessary  body  guard, 
and  as  they  crossed  the  brook  at  a  point  where  they  pur- 
posed to  ascend  the  hills  Tehuanto  stopped  and  called 
the  attention  of  the  Ontario.  For  a  moment  both  of  them 
were  earnestly  engaged,  first  in  examining  a  naked  foot- 
print in  the  sand,  and  afterward  in  scrutinizing  the  shore 
for  several  rods  up  and  down.  A  single,  naked  footprint. 
That  was  all.  And  what  could  that  imply  ?  That  a 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  27 1 

man  in  crossing  the  brook  had  stepped  upon  the  sand, 
nothing  more.  It  was  made  with  the  right  foot,  and 
although  nearly  at  right  angles  with  the  stream,  it 
inclined  downward,  with  the  current.  Was  it  the  track 
of  a  mere  passer-by,  who  left  a  single  naked  foot-print 
and  its  counterpart  nowhere  ?  The  wily  sense,  and  sharp, 
divining  eye  of  the  Indian  told  another  tale.  Whoever 
stepped  upon  the  sandy  shore  was  following  the  stream 
to  avoid  leaving  a  trail,  and  his  foot  was  bared  because 
the  wet  moccasin  might  slip  upon  the  slimy  stones,  and 
at  this  place  his  treacherous  foot  had  slidden  from  a 
mossy,  water  covered  rock,  and  he,  the  owner,  to  recover 
without  a  fall,  had  leaped  to  the  little  bed  of  sand  left 
uncovered  by  the  low  state  of  water. 

It  was  a  blind  trail,  and  a  blind  trail  betokened  secrec)'. 
Secrecy  at  this  time  and  place,  when  it  was  believed  fugi- 
tives were  lurking  in  the  woods,  naturally  excited 
suspicion  of  something  approximating  to  the  reality. 
Should  the  trail  be  followed  down  the  brook,  in  the 
direction  indicated  by  the  foot-print?  No!  He  might 
go  miles,  but  the  brook  above  was  short,  and  whoever  it 
was  must  have  entered  somewhere,  and  the  trail  at  that 
point  would  lead  to  the  object  of  his  coming.  It  would 
at  least  aid  in  unravelling  the  mystery.  Tehuanto  would 
follow  the  trail  back;  and  without  ado  he  and  his  five 
men  left  the  Ontario  warriors  to  go  their  way  and  started 
up  the  stream. 

A  mile  above,  in  the  meadow  just  opposite  the  rocky 
face  of  Stone  House,  an  artfully  concealed,  but  still  dimly 


DOOM    OF    WASHAKIM. 


apparent  trail  was  found,  and  it  led  directly  up  the  hill. 
The  new,  green  grass,  that  had  been  trodden  upon  had 
been  lifted  after  passing,  and  to  the  casual  observer,  or 
indeed  to  any  but  a  born  woodsman,  showed  no  more 
depression  than  might  have  resulted  from  a  strong  wind 
or  a  heavy  rain,  but  signs  of  lodgment  from  wind  or  rain 
would  have  been  obliterated  within  twenty-four  hours, 
would  have  been  lifted  by  the  influence  of  sunlight,  and 
neither  wind  nor  rain  had  occurred  for  a  much  longer 
time.  The  fox  hound's  scent  is  not  more  acute  or 
reliable  than  the  practiced  eye  of  an  Indian. 

Great  circumspection  must  now  be  used,  for  they  must 
if  possible  find  the  object  of  their  search  without  being 
themselves  discovered,  as  perhaps  the  trail  led  back  to 
some  secreted  force.  That  the  naked  footprint  in  the 
brook  bed  was  not  that  of  a  fugitive,  was  next  to  certain, 
as  it  led  by  the  direction  of  the  stream  almost  into  the 
Tehassit  camp,  a  region  dangerous  to  the  last  degree  to 
such,  and  still,  at  one  end  or  the  other  of  the  trail  were 
fugitives,  else  why  the  blind  ? 

Cautiously  climbing  the  craggy  face  of  Stone  House 
they  soon  became  aware  that  the  hill  was  inhabited,  but 
to  what  extent  was  far  from  certain. 

As  they  neared  the  top  the  artificial  arrangement  of 
stone  where  Wandee  had  erected  the  cabin,  came  into 
view,  and  was  at  once  surrounded  and  entered.  Once 
more  the  little  white  woman  was  in  the  hands  of  hostile 
Indians,  but  not  this  time  to  be  carried  to  the  wilds  of 
Ontario.  She  could  now  be  given  directly  to  Eugene 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKTM.  :  -  : 

Archer  and  the  Washakim's  debt  would  be  cancelled,  for 
although  he  had  demurred  on  account  of  some  super- 
stitious fear  to  personally  undertake  the  murder  of  Sergent 
and  the  capture  of  the  woman,  yet  he  had  committed 
himself  to  aid  the  white  man  in  securing  his  prize  as  an 
equivalent  for  his  services  in  giving  such  information  as 
might  make  it  practicable  to  seize  upon  the  person  of  the 
white  captain  and  Wandee. 

That  the  two  had  since  escaped  did  not  absolve  even 
the  Indian  from  the  obligation.  Nor  was  Tehuanto 
further  bound  to  the  Ontario  in  respect  to  his  lost  prison- 
ers, for  the  captive  in  effecting,  however  it  might  have 
occurred,  her  own  deliverance,  had  severed  the  bond. 

It  was  soon  found  useless  to  endeavor  to  learn  who 
were  the  companions  of  the  woman  in  this  wild  isolation. 
Threats  and  pursuasions  were  alike  futile,  and  dis- 
couraged and  baffled  he  bade  his  captive  follow  as  he  led 
the  way  eastward  toward  Washakim. 

From  a  position  among  the  rocks  where  could  be 
seen  all  that  transpired,  Wandee,  indignant,  chagrined 
and  disappointed,  had  remained  inactive,  because  impo- 
tent to  stay  the  tide  of  misfortune.  Foolhardiness  might 
have  attempted  a  rescue.  That  spirit  of  impatience  and 
impetuosity  which  snaps  its  fingers  at  odds  and  insanely 
dares  what  judgment  would  rebuke,  might  have  left  at 
this  time  at  least  a  scalp,  and  a  human  carcass  far  the 
crows  and  foxes  to  feed  upon,  but  an  old  warrior  was  too 
wise  to  undertake  so  forlorn  a  hope.  He  could  bide  his 
time. 

18 


274  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

The  sun  had  scarcely  disappeared  behind  Asnebumskit, 
when  the  swift  foot  of  Wandee  was  making  its  way  down 
the  Tehassit  stream  with  a  view  of  joining  the  party  at 
Rattlesnake  and  devising  some  means,  if  possible,  to 
again  come  in  possession  of  the  twice  lost  woman  of 
Sagatabscot.  But  in  this  he  was  doomed  to  disappoint- 
ment. Indians  were  sauntering  up  and  down  the  valley, 
presumably  as  guards  at  post,  but  really  sleepy,  listless, 
and  indifferent  from  self'assurance  that  no  enemy  existed 
throughout  the  region. 

But  one  course  lay  open  for  the  chief  to  pursue,  one 
alternative  remained.  The  great  woods  of  Quinnapoxit,1 
now  that  its  warriors  and  hunters  are  occupied  with  the 
siege  of  Wigwam  Hill,  must  be  nearly  barren  of  fight- 
ing material,  and  as  for  squaws, — when  braves  are  absent 
they  merely  huddle.  He  would  lie  about  the  north 
woods  till  opportunity  for  action  offered.  And  so  the 
chief  retraced  his  steps. 

We  may  leave  the  twenty  hours  succeeding  the  recap- 
ture of  Susan  a  blank,  as  in  the  interim  nothing  in  the 
line  of  this  narrative  in  any  way  important  occurred. 
But  at  the  end  of  twenty  hours,  looking  over  to  Wash- 
akim  we  see,  tied  to  a  stake  in  the  midst  of  a  circle  of 
wigwams,  the  little  woman  to  whom  peril  was  fast  be- 
coming a  normal  condition. 

Grouped  about  her  were  squaws,  and  while  she  seemed 
to  be  the  immediate  charge  of  three  warriors,  the  only 

1More  recently  the  "  French  Woods,"  or  later  still,  "  Quinna- 
poxit." 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  275 

ones  left  in  the  lodge,  all  others,  even  the  old  men,  having 
joined  the  besieging  lines,  some  to  do  active  service,  some 
from  motives  of  curiosity,  or  to  gain  experience  at  safe 
positions,  from  the  interest  and  excitement  attendant 
upon  active  warfare.  The  woman  at  the  stake  stood  with 
arms  swung  backward  and  encircling  it,  bound  at  the 
wrists  by  raw-hide  throngs.  Her  ankles  were  not  con- 
fined, as,  by  maintaining  the  free  use  of  her  lower  limbs, 
she  might  the  more  agreeably  posture  in  the  contortive 
agonies  of  mortal  dissolution. 

Crosswise,  laid  upon  four  sides  of  her,  were  dry  sticks 
of  heavy  limb  wood,  while  the  space  between,  up  to  the 
verge  of  the  stump  upon  which  she  stood,  was  filled  with 
punk  and  pitch  pine  knots,  as  elaborate  an  arrangement 
as  ever  sent  a  witch's  soul  with  a  martyr's  carte  blanche 
into  paradise. 

All  now  seemed  ready  for  the  frighful  consummation 
of  an  act  more  diabolical  than  ever  found  its  way 
into  the  inventive  talent  of  other  than  an  American 
savage  or  a  religious  bigot  A  blazing  torch  was  in  the 
hand  of  a  warrior.  The  squaws  stood  all  agape,  half 
pitying  the  sweet,  defenseless  pattern  of  purity.  And 
that  psychological  accident, — that  sure  to  be  present  only 
when  never  expected, — the  Witch  of  Wigwam,  whose 
power  of  divination  seemed  to  reach  out  into  the  occult 
and  to  fathom  the  mysteries  of  time  and  space,  and 
whose  mission  seemed  to  be  to  occupy  strange  and  un- 
looked-for positions — the  Witch  of  Wigwam  was  there; 
marching  from  somewhere  into  the  circle;  stopping  and 


276  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

standing  aloof  from  all;  scarcely  turning  toward  the 
victim;  scarcely  heeding  the  movements  of  the  warriors; 
standing  dumb  and  passionless  as  yet  appeared,  save  as 
without  moving  muscle  or  turning  head,  those  spark- 
ling, wild,  black  eyes,  so  full  of  venom,  fire  and  fury, 
were  taking  in  each  detail  of  the  scene, — gloating, maybe, 
over  some  fateful  promise  of  the  hour  to  come.  There 
is  mystery  behind  those  snakish  eyes  boding  some  excess 
of  violence. 

One  of  the  Indians  now  approaches  the  woman  at  the 
stake.  Until  now  she  had  looked  upon  her  murderers, 
upon  the  pitying  squaws,  the  old  squaw  sorceress,  and 
the  threatening  fagots  at  her  feet,  as  calmly,  as  benignly, 
almost  smilingly,  as  ever  dying  saint  looked  upon  the 
manner  of  his  martyrdom.  But  now  her  soul  seemed 
writhing  in  affright.  She  struggled  with  her  bonds,  and 
her  eyes  protruded,  while  that  mobile  under  lip  rolled 
up  rigidly  against  its  mate,  showing  that  at  last,  or  by 
some  means,  a  martyr's  sang-froid  may  be  conquered. 
Grief,  fear,  and  loathing  were  centered  in  the  contortions 
of  that  under  lip.  A  word  was  spoken  by  the  Indian  in 
her  ear. 

"I  will  never  !  Never  !  Fire  the  fagots  !  I 'm  weary 
with  waiting  ! ' '  was  the  reply.  She  had  heard  the  voice 
she  feared  and  hated,  and  had  seen  her  evil  genius  through 
his  savage  disguise,  and  with  this  screaming  exclamation, 
the  woman's  head  sank  upon  her  bosom,  her  eyelids 
closed,  the  unbound  yellow  hair  fell  forward  over  face 
and  neck,  and  all  the  flesh  left  visible  was  livid,  semi- 


DOOM   OP   WASHAKIM.  277 

transparent,  dead  as  marble.  He  who  had  addressed  her 
started  back,  in  fright  perhaps  at  the  effect  of  his  words; 
perhaps  in  amazement  that  so  frail  a  being  could  be  so 
utterly  unconquerable.  He  had  not  really  intended  that 
denial  should  be  followed  by  cremation  as  his  threat  im- 
plied. The  arrangement  was  intended  to  frighten  her 
into  acquiescence,  but  the  details  were  too  complete.  He 
had  not  counted  upon  the  promptness  of  savage  discipline. 

The  Indian  with  the  torch  leaped  forward,  eager  to 
perform  his  part,  and  so  swift  was  its  execution  that  when 
his  director  sprang  toward  the  stake  to  arrest  him,  he  saw 
the  red  flame  toying  with  the  pitch  to  late  to  remedy — 
saw  a  dense  cloud  of  thick,  white  smoke — heard  the 
sharp  crackle  of  blazing  twigs,  and  here  and  there  a  long, 
transitory  tongue  of  flame  leaped  upward,  snake-like,  to 
slink  back  as  soon  and  hide  itself  within  the  smoking  pile, 
as  if  waiting  for  the  spirit  to  return  and  sense  its  other- 
wise wasted  energies. 

And  as  it  waited  the  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle  was  heard 
close  at  hand. 

In  view  was  a  little  wreath  of  light  gray  smoke  above 
the  hazel  thicket.  A  groan,  a  yell  of  pain,  supplemented 
by  an  English  curse,  a  flying  tread  and  a  swash-like  crash- 
ing through  bones,  was  all  the  sound;  but  a  dead  Indian, 
and  the  fractured  wrist  of  Eugene  Archer  in  his  war 
paint,  and  a  tomakawk  buried  in  the  skull  of  a  third 
Indian  by  the  now  transported  old  witch,  argued  of  com- 
plications in  a  previous  arrangement. 

As  we  watch  the  squaws  and  papooses  scatter  like  a 


278  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

brood  of  young  grouse  for  any  shelter,  the  knife  of 
Wandee  has  cut  the  thongs,  and  himself,  scorched  and 
stifled,  issues  from  the  stake  fire  with  the  twice  rescued 
white  woman,  and  is  gone. 

No  living  thing  is  now  within  that  circle  of  wigwams 
save  that  old  squaw,  and  she  is  down  upon  her  knees 
with  hands  and  eyes  upraised.  It  may  be  in  prayer;  may 
be  in  thanksgiving.  Her  Master,  the  Great  Spirit,  has 
nerved  her  arm  and  steeled  her  sensibilities  to  all  but 
pity  for  the  little  white  squaw  and  loyalty  to  Wigwam 
Hill. 

We  see  scattered  about,  the  debris  of  the  plantation's 
ruin,  the  booty  of  the  Indian.  Bottles,  kegs,  kegs  iron 
bound,  and  little  kegs  with  wooden  hoops — keep  them  of 
the  wooden  hoops  away  from  fire.  We  see  no  living 
thing  within  the  lodge.  The  squaws  are  placing  distance 
between  themselves  and  the  objects  of  their  terror.  The 
old  squaw  has  vanished,  has  gone  up,  or  down;  and 
Eugene  Archer  ? — The  woods  must  answer  for  him.  He 
would  turn  his  back  upon  no  danger  visible,  but  bold- 
ness will  not  quench  a  shade,  and  courage  bows  to 
mystery. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A   CHAPTER   OF   DIPLOMACY. 

DURING  the  twenty-four  hours  that  succeeded  the 
recapture  of  the  white  woman  by  the  Washakim  chief, 
the  praying  Packachoags  had  once  reported  at  Rattle- 
snake the  condition  of  things  at  Wigwam  Hill,  and  the 
Hill  lodge  had  been  fully  apprised  of  all  that  had  trans- 
pired, both  in  the  enemies'  line  and  concerning  the 
white  chief,  as  also  that  Wandee  had  been  tracked  to 
Stone  House  and  the  white  girl  recaptured,  but  whether 
she  was  now  a  captive  in  the  Northmen's  camp  had  not 
been  learned,  nor  had  any  information  whatever  been 
gleaned  of  the  fate  of  Wandee.  Supposably  he  was  in 
the  woods,  for  had  he  been  either  taken  or  killed  the 
fact  would  have  been  uppermost  in  the  minds,  and  loud- 
est upon  the  tongues  of  the  Washakims  who  waited 
impatiently  for  the  settlement  of  a  feud,  -and  of  the 
Northmen  who  were  yearning  for  revenge. 

The  force  comprising  the  besiegers  had  been  aug- 
mented, but  mostly  by  that  class  of  strolling  savages  who 
travelled  almost  continually,  and  chiefly  that  they  might 
eat  the  bread  of  others'  providing,  and  yet,  they  in  part 
compensated  the  donors  of  the  little  bounty  they  received 
by  reciting  every  incident  that  had  occurred  for  weeks 


280  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

along  their  lines  of  travel,  which  often  extended  over 
hundreds  of  miles,  and  being  constantly  on  the  move  and 
finding  welcome  lodgment  among  the  various  tribes, 
they  became  in  some  degree  familiar  with  the  different 
dialects  and  could  easily  make  themselves  briefly  enter- 
taining. 

There  were  tramps  in  those  days.  But  shifting,  lazy, 
and  vagabondish  as  they  really  were,  there  were  perhaps 
no  more  useful  or  important  members  of  society,  for  they 
were  the  only  news  gleaners  and  carriers  between  the 
St.  Lawrence  and  the  Mississippi.  By  means  of  them 
the  knowledge  of  passing  events  over  vast  areas  of 
country  was  made  quite  general  and  accurate;  and  no 
matter  that  the  natal  lodge  of  a  stroller  might  be  at  war 
with,  or  the  deadly  enemy  of  the  host,  his  occupation 
was  carte  blanche  for  all  his  requirements  and  a  guar- 
antee of  personal  safety. 

In  all  savage  and  semi-barbarous  conditions,  as  indeed 
in  all  stages  and  phases  of  civilization,  up  to  the  time 
when  the  newspaper  press  became  practically  efficient  as 
a  substitute  in  the  dissemination  of  current  information, 
the  tramp  was  at  worst  a  necessary  evil.  A  wise  and 
kindly  provision  of  nature.  Better  men  and  better  com- 
munities than  these  aborigines  acknowledged  their  im- 
portance, and  scarce  two  generations  back,  here  in  New 
England,  our  grandmothers  rarely  turned  a  ' '  walk  about ' ' 
away  hungry  or  shelterless,  unless  by  previous  misdoings 
or  a  blemished  record  she  counted  him  unworthy. 

The  Irish,  Scotch,  and  Welsh  minstrels,  the  itinerant 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  28 I 

fakirs  of  the  East,  the  Troubadour  of  Middle  Ages  wan- 
dering through  the  south  of  Europe,  the  Pagan  philoso- 
phers, and  all  the  early  poets,  and  some  of  the  Christian 
saints,  were  unmitigated  tramps,  and  fulfilled  every 
function  pertaining  to  the  Order. 

But  by  advice  of  the  Washakira  chief  it  was  now 
ordered  that  every  stranger  must  either  pass  to  the  rear 
or  pass  on,  for  they  had  stayed  their  stay,  and  arrange- 
ment were  being  made  that  none  except  sworn  enemies  to 
the  Quinsigamonds  must  be  made  aware  of,  not  even  a 
praying  Packachoag,  should  pass  the  line,  although  the 
latter  were  still  allowed  to  enter  freely. 

So  closely  the  combined  forces  kept  watch  along  the 
line  that  it  would  have  been  extremely  hazardous  for  the 
Rattlesnake  party  to  attempt  its  passage  by  stealth,  and 
to  try  and  force  it  would  have  been  the  height  of  pre- 
sumptuous folly.  There  was,  however,  in  the  near 
future,  a  time  to  corne  which,  seized  at  its  exact  moment, 
promised  success;  and  to  ascertain  the  precise  hour  of  its 
occurrence,  before  the  fact,  began  now  to  be  the  all 
absorbing  topic  in  the  minds  of  the  Packachoags  to 
whom  the  solution  had  been  assigned. 

When  the  final  advance  should  be  ordered,  and  the 
lines  were  leaving  their  established  posts,  in  the  excite- 
ment and  confusion  incident  to  the  change, — the  dread, 
the  longing,  the  looking  forward,  the  expectancy  attend- 
ant upon  compliance  with  marching  orders,  many  ways 
would,  of  necessity  be  for  a  while  left  unguarded  and 
open  to  a  stealthy  foot  and  subtle  mind. 


282  DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM. 

The  Packachoags  were  alive  to  the  importance  of 
ascertaining,  prior  to  the  event,  the  hour  fixed  upon  to 
move  forward,  and  of  this  hour  the  rank  and  file  of  the 
barbarous  Northmen  could  not  hope  to  know.  But  the 
Packachoags  shrewdly  conceived  that  the  trusted  little 
band  of  Nipnets  in  actual  service  would  in  due  time 
become  masters  of  the  secret,  as  upon  them  would 
devolve  much  of  the  execution  of  the  plan  and  all  the  ill 
effects  of  disaster.  The  moment  the  all  important  secret 
could  be  probed  the  swift  feet  of  the  converts  must  carry 
its  burden  not  only  to  Wigwam  Hill,  but  to  Rattlesnake 
also.  They,  themselves,  could  easily  have  passed  the  lines 
to  Wigwam  now,  but,  in  the  possible  event  of  detection, 
even  if  they  escaped  with  their  scalps,  the  suspicion  of 
treachery  would  have  led  to  strict  surveillance,  and  all 
hope  of  rendering  further  and  greater  aid  to  their  friends 
would  have  been  brought  to  a  summary  close. 

An  Indian  may  lose  courage,  lose  heart,  may  break 
faith,  or  may  do  anything  but  forget  his  cunning;  but 
when  he  ceases  to  be  wary  he  forfeits  his  manhood  and 
becomes  as  contemptible  as  a  squaw  whose  sole  mission  is 
to  plant  corn,  to  bake  bread,  and  to  breed  and  rear  pap- 
pooses. 

The  praying  Packachoags  maintained  their  dignity. 
They  cajoled  the  scalp-takers  of  repute,  and  paid  marked 
homage  to  the  great  chiefs  of  the  tribes  in  the  alliance. 
They  watched  and  waited  and  hourly  jabbered  with  the 
patrols.  They  were  on  the  best  of  terms  with  them,  and 
so  complete  became  the  affiliation  that  a  few  hours  after 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  283 

the  promulgation  of  the  order,  they  could  come  or  go  in 
any  direction  unquestioned  and  unrestrained,  but  they 
had  now  no  wish  to  avail  themselves  of  liberty  outside 
the  prescribed  limit.  They  were  doing  better  as  they 
were,  passing  by  threes  up  and  down  the  lines  and  meet- 
ing in  some  secluded  spot  to  compare  advices. 

They  became  now  more  than  ever  loquacious  respect- 
ing the  new  faith.  They  declared  that  having  given 
their  hearts  entirely  to  the  Master,  things  of  only  secular 
importance  were  to  them  lighter  than  air,  and  flew  from 
their  shoulders  like  the  down  from  a  thistle.  That  mun- 
dane existence,  to  these  "worms  of  the  dust"  (they 
had  garnered  into  their  vocabulary  not  a  little  of  churchly 
expression)  was  utterly  valueless,  except  as  a  training 
school  for  the  life  eternal.  They  pretended  to  hold  verbal 
communication  and  discourse  with  spirits  of  the  air,  and 
were  frequently  attacked  with  spasms  of  proselytism,  as 
they  declared,  at  the  instigation  of  returning  souls  of  the 
damned.  Regeneration,  and  baptism  by  water,  was  ever 
at  their  tongues'  end.  Repentance  was  urged,  with 
remission  of  sins  as  a  result,  and  bliss  ineffable  from  ever- 
lasting to  everlasting,  as  the  promised  recompense,  was 
the  burden  of  all  exhortation,  except,  as  in  pursuance  of 
methods  they  had  been  taught,  they  pictured  by  word 
painting,  by  vocal  imitation,  and  by  frantic  gesticulation 
the  tortures  of  the  unregenerate  dead  consigned  to  limit- 
less kettles  of  (they  did  n't  quite  understand  the  substance 
of ' '  fire  and  brimstone, ' '  and  so  substituted)  blazing  pitch. 
And  they  laid  great  stress  upon  submission  and  confidence, 


284  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

for  to  that  the  converts  in  reality  looked  as  a  key  to  that 
ulterior  effect — the  unbosoming  of  a  secret. 

Growing  more  and  more  zealous  to  make  converts, 
they  so  exaggerated  the  manners  and  methods  of  the 
white  exhorters  that  they  became  a  coveted  amusement 
with  the  hard  headed  warriors  upon  whose  hands  time 
began  to  hang  heavily.  They  were  looked  for  with 
greedy  expectancy,  their  antics  extolled  and  themselves 
cajoled,  until  nothing  seemed  too  good  for  a  praying 
Packachoag.  They  could  feed  with  the  Northmen, 
could  pray  with  the  Quinnapoxits,  could  sing  psalms 
with  the  Washakims,  and  they  could  worm  the  secrets 
of  every  hour  out  of  the  too  trusting  Tehassits. 

Time  grew  big  with  happenings,  present  and  prospect- 
ive, and  the  wily  pietists  could  almost  count  upon  the 
hour  of  accouchment.  They  had  now  entirely  shaken  off 
the  reserve,  the  reticence,  peculiar  to  the  race,  and  were 
becoming  wholly  enthusiastic  with  an  affectation  of 
pious  jugglery,  performing  or  pretending  to  the  accom- 
plishment of  feats  such  as  in  after  times  were  ascribed  to 
witchcraft,  and  still  later  on  to  the  spirits  of  what  are 
called  dead  men.  But  towards  the  Tehassits,  some  ot 
whom  were  really  inclined  to  religious  pursuasion,  they 
applied  themselves  through  more  reasonable  methods, 
the  true  motive  being  to  amuse  the  infidels  and  to  use 
the  more  seriously  inclined. 

Time  had  turned  twelve  in  the  day,  for  the  sun  had 
passed  the  meridian,  and  the  Packachoags,  three  in  num- 
ber, were  at  Tehassit  post  on  Beaver  Brook,  where  it 


DOOM   OP   WASHAKIM.  285 

crossed  the  afterward  Joe  Bill  Road,  then  but  an  Indian 
trail. 

Five  of  the  Tehassits,  the  whole  post,  had  kneeled  in 
honest,  earnest,  heartfelt  prayer.  They  had,  as  instmcted, 
condemned  themselves  as  sinners — "  the  vilest  of  the 
vile," — and  had  declared  their  utmost  readiness  to  re- 
nounce "the  world,  the  flesh  and  the  devil,"  as  the 
Packachoags  put  it,  and  were  waiting  for  that  new  light 
the  praying  men  had  promised  them.  But  it  did  not 
come.  They  had  been  told  it  would  break  in  upon  them 
at  the  moment  of  entire  submission  like  a  full  moon 
through  a  parting  cloud.  But  the  clouds  wouldn't  part. 
They  had  been  assured  that  an  inexpressible  buoyancy 
would  take  occupancy  of  their  souls,  and  that  they  would 
involuntarily  leap  to  their  feet  and  shout  Hallelujah  ! 
But  they  had  n't  shouted. 

Something  was  out  of  joint,  and  that  something  was 
soon  discovered  through  a  little  tearful  conference  be- 
tween the  Packachoags.  The  convicts  could  never 
become  converts  until  they  had  shaken  off  their  minds 
and  consciences  something  with  which  their  souls  were 
burdened.  There  must  be  some  sin  of  past  commission, 
sin  of  omission,  or  else  some  sin  in  contemplation,  and 
they  were  now  exhorted  by  the  Packachoags  to  perform 
that  last  act  of  submission — the  open  sesame  to  perfect 
absolution — the  verbal  confession  of  sins.  They  must 
confess  all  they  had  lately  done  that  was  evil,  and  they 
must  avow  all  they  contemplated  doing  in  the  near  future. 
They  were  told  by  their  religious  instructors  that  killing 


286  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

of  men  was  destroying  the  image  of  God.  That  it  was 
murder,  against  which  God  Himself,  with  His  own  hand 
had  written  a  commandment.  That  to  know  of  intended 
murder  and  not  to  reveal  it  was  in  itself  murder,  and  that 
all  murderers  were  under  condemnation  by  the  Great  Spirit, 
God,  to  be  cast  into  a  lake  of  blazing  pitch,  where, 
though  forever  dying,  they  cannot  die,  but  must  burn 
forever  and  ever,  while  their  squaws,  who  have  been 
given  to  their  enemies,  will  lean  over  and  look  down 
upon  them  and  laugh  at  their  misfortune.  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  to  confess  was  to  be  forgiven,  while  to  be 
forgiven  was  to  insure  them  a  crown  of  everlasting  glory 
brighter  than  the  cloak  of  the  scarlet  tanager,  more 
dazzling  than  the  sun  at  noonday,  and  as  beautiful  as  an 
October  sunset. 

The  Tehassits  were  by  this  time  effectually  overcome. 
It  was  too  big  talk  for  them  to  withstand,  and  they  sur- 
rendered. Let  us  hope  that  the  pious  Packachoags 
valued  their  poor  souls  at  a  higher  rate  than  their  rich 
secret.  The  Tehassits  caught  at  the  gilded  bait.  They 
were  repentant  sinners.  They  had  been  lost,  and  they 
eagerly  clutched  at  so  cheap  a  salvation. 

Midnight  of  that  very  day  had  been  fixed  upon  to 
carry  Wigwam  Hill  by  storm,  and  to  kill  every  warrior, 
squaw,  and  pappoose  of  the  tribe,  so  that  they  should  be 
known  no  more  among  the  Indians  forever.  So  said 
the  weeping,  penitent  Tehassits  at  this  cunningly 
devised  confessional.  Said  they  would  watch  until 
ordered  forward,  when  they  would  desert  and  return  to 
Tehassit,  and  thus  atone  so  far  as  might  be,  for  the 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  287 

wicked  position  they  had  assumed  in  this  murderous 
design.  They  were  assured  by  the  praying  men  that  this 
was  the  only  door  left  open  to  salvation. 

And  was  not  this,  the  Tehassits'  extremity,  the  Packa- 
choags'  opportunity?  The  Packachoags  thought  it  was. 
After  nightfall  there  would  be  an  unguarded  place  in  the 
lines  through  which  the  Rattlesnake  fugitives  might 
easily  and  safely  pass  to  Wigwam  Hill. 

The  Packachoags  achieved  success  through  what  the 
white  men  call  diplomacy,  with  the  Indians  it  was  a 
mere  trick. 

Early  in  the  evening  the  lines  by  posts  were  ordered 
to  advance.  To  creep  nearer  the  intended  victims,  and 
to  await  the  summons  for  a  general  attack.  From  Muddy 
Pond,  a  feeder  of  the  lake,  they  were  ordered  to  what  is 
now  the  city  farm's  brook.  From  Burncoat  Plain  and 
North  Pond,  to  Green  Hill  and  Bear  Brook.  Those  posted 
on  Kettle  Brook  at  its  junction  with  the  Tehassit  were 
ordered  to  Plantation  Ridge,  overlooking  the  lake  and 
the  Beaver  Brook  post,  the  Tehassits  were  to  move  up 
to  the  Swamp  of  Pines  and  occupy  the  great  trail  between 
the  lake  and  the  site  of  the  burned  plantation. 

Two  hours  after  sunset  that  night  three  Packachoags 
passed  through  the  swamp  without  danger  of  discovery, 
and  later  on  three  of  the  praying  men  with  the  Rattle- 
snake party  came  down  the  Mohawk  path,  and  crossing 
the  little  plantation  swamp,1  struck  the  unguarded  lake 
trail  and  headed  for  Wigwam  Hill. 

1  Many  acres  in  the  very  heart  of  Worcester,  were,  until  1840, 
a  mere  quagmire. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE   DOOM   OF  WASHAKIM. 

EARLY  in  the  evening  of  the  day  when  the  penitent 
Tehassits  made  their  confession  to  the  praying  men  of 
Packachoag,  the  little  plat  at  the  foot  of  Wigwam  Hill 
presented  an  unusual  appearance.  The  squaws  and  pap- 
pooses  were  being  conveyed  across  the  lake  where  them- 
selves and  the  canoes  were  to  be  left  until  fate  decided  the 
struggle  which  the  Packachoags  had  warned  the  Quin- 
sigamonds  was  to  begin  almost  at  once. 

The  plan  of  operations,  so  desperate  in  design  that  it 
left  scarcely  an  alternative  to  victory  or  death,  was  devised 
by  a  young  chief  chosen  for  the  emergency. 

The  few  warriors  who  conducted  the  non-combatants 
across  the  lake,  were  to  see  them  safely  landed,  to  com- 
plete instructions,  and  arrange  signals  which  should  guide 
the  squaws'  movements  under  possible  contingencies, 
after  which  they  were  to  swim  back  to  Wigwam  and  join 
in  its  defense. 

Retreat  was  now  practically  cut  off,  and  defeat  signi- 
fied nothing  short  of  annihilation;  for  although  this  tribe, 
living  always  by  the  water,  were  almost  of  it,  and  nearly 
as  much  at  home  in  its  embrace  as  the  fishes  that  swam 
it,  yet,  in  the  event  of  defeat,  when  they  must  avail 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  289 

themselves  of  that  last  resort  and  make  the  plunge,  worn 
and  wasted  by  the  toil  of  conflict,  they  knew  too  well 
that  they  must  inevitably  become  a  sure  and  easy  prey  to 
the  exultant  marksmen  on  the  shore  behind. 

The  hope  was  indeed  a  forlorn  one,  but  the  warriors 
seemed  no  whit  dismayed.  They  moved  leisurely  about, 
with  as  much  apparent  composure  as  if  waiting  only  to 
be  called  to  eat. 

This  one  overhauled  an  old  flint-lock  musket,  probed 
its  vent,  blew  into  the  muzzle  with  the  piece  at  half-cock, 
to  learn  if  the  vent  was  free,  snapped  the  lock,  scruti- 
nized and  reset  the  flint,  fumbled  the  trigger,  turned  the 
powder  from  his  horn  into  the  pan  and  flashed  it,  counted 
his  bullets,  stuffed  leaves  under  his  belt  for  ready  wads, 
and  apparently  satisfied  with  the  result,  set  his  piece 
against  his  wigwam,  drew  out  of  his  belt  his  scalping 
knife,  and  run  the  ball  of  his  thumb  along  its  edge, 
glanced  at  the  stone  hatchet  in  his  girdle  and  sauntered 
off,  jerking  pebbles  into  the  lake  and  stooping,  watched 
them  by  the  moonlight  as  they  skipped  along  the  surface 
as  unconcernedly,  as  carelessly  as  a  schoolboy  shaking 
off  his  period  of  confinement;  as  if  life  and  death  hung 
not  in  the  balance,  with  death  in  the  long  arm.  And  the 
conduct  of  this  one,  in  point  of  indifference,  was  a  sample 
of  the  whole. 

At  intervals  of  a  few  minutes  a  scout  came  in;  some- 
times came  from  the  north,  sometimes  from  the  south,  and 
now  and  then  one  flying  like  a  rolling  stone  down  the 
steep  declivity  of  the  little  mountain,  gave  some  message 
19 


2QO  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

or  information  to  the  chief  in  short,  sharp,  verbal 
snatches,  and  was  off  again;  off  up  the  rocky  scarp  like 
the  startled  brood  partridge  leading  the  trespasser, — up, 
over  the  scarp,  and  gone. 

That  the  enemy's  line  was  moving  up  slowly,  but 
surely,  like  a  great  tidal  wave,  like  a  snake  upon  the 
bird  it  charms, elicited  nothing  more  than  an  inarticulate, 
gutteral  response  from  the  chief,  and  awakened  no  percep- 
tible interest  among  the  warriors,  not  even  curiosity  that 
one  might  observe.  And  yet  every  warrior  in  the  camp 
knew  each  moment  the  precise  condition  of  affairs  as  it 
was  passed  in  concise,  abrupt  sentences  from  man  to 
man,  but  every  muscle  of  the  face,  every  nerve  of  the 
body,  had  been  schooled  to  the  utmost  limit  of  obedience 
to  the  will. 

Here,  there,  everywhere,  were  Indians  fully  armed, 
standing  with  their  backs  against  the  trees,  sleeping  with 
only  half-shut  eyes,  and  ears  that  could  distinguish 
between  sounds,  and  taking  notice  of  their  import,  pass 
the  unimportant  and  sleep  on. 

Guards  had  been  posted  at  the  summit  of  the  hill  to 
observe  and  give  notice  of  any  hostile  approach,  but  so 
far  nothing  had  occurred  that  should  demand  report;  and 
yet,  something  beside  the  guard  was  in  possession  of 
the  hill  top. 

A  shadow  seemed  to  flit  now  and  then  from  behind  the 
scattered  scrub  oaks  on  the  summit,  to  creep,  cat-like 
through  the  brushy  sumachs,  or  to  shoot  across  an  open 
space  half  seen,  half  felt,  no  more  a  sight  than  an  im- 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  29 1 

pression.  And  now  it  lies  flat  and  wriggles  like  a  snake, 
here,  there,  and  disappears  behind  an  enormous  boulder, 
a  mass  of  poised  rock  separated  from,  and  somewhat 
unlike,  the  ledges  of  the  hill. 

The  rock  stood  alone,  balanced  upon  perhaps  a  foot  of 
bed  rock,  and  the  power  of  a  man  might  jostle,  but  many 
men  could  never  overturn  it. 

The  figure,  shade,  ghost,  or  whatever  it  might  be, 
seemed  now  half  erect  between  the  boulder  and  the  verti- 
cal face  of  the  upper  crag  there  upon  Wigwam's 
summit. 

The  space  between  the  crag  and  boulder  served  scarce- 
ly to  admit  the  form,  but  if  it  was  simply  a  shade  it  was 
infinitely  compressible,  and,  space  or  none,  there  was 
sufficient  room. 

The  thing  bore  about  it  some  commodity  and  once  it 
seemed  to  use  its  teeth.  Now  we  saw  it,  indistinctly, 
seemingly  suspended,  or  floating  like  a  will-o-the-wisp. 
That  might  not  be;  might  be  but  fancy  over- wrought, 
and  yet  it  might  both  only  seem,  and  be,  for  things  that 
only  seem  are  sometimes  real  in  another  sense,  so  like 
reality  is  that  which  is  but  essence  of  it,  itself  reality, 
except  we  test  it  by  material  sense.  'T  is  moving  still. 
Now  weaving  as  it  were  some  spell,  carving  some  magic 
circle  in  the  lower  air — in  the  first  five  inches  of  the 
lower  strata.  Now  back,  now  forth,  some  wizard  conjura- 
tion. And  now  so  like  a  snake  again  it  wriggles  off  into 
the  darkness;  into  the  shadow  of  the  hemlocks;  down  the 
east  slope  of  the  hill;  down  the  black  wall,  over  the 


2Q2  DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM. 

precipice  into  the  darkness.  It  has  worked  its  way  in 
and  out  among  the  guards,  among  eyes  as  sharp  as 
lynxes,  and  hearing  as  acute  as  the  earless  wild  goose,1 
but  if  an  eye  has  seen  it,  it  dared  not  challenge.  If  an 
ear  had  heard  it,  it  dared  not  conjure  it.  These  Indians 
were  very  superstitious,  and  what  they  saw  or  heard  was 
doubtless  some  intangible  minister  of  fate  forging  of 
destinies. 

All  was  quiet  on  the  little  flat  below.  The  scouts  came 
and  went,  and  the  warriors  still  slept  standing.  But  now 
something  down  here  has  happened.  Something  un- 
locked for,  and  every  warrior  is  alert,  but  they  give  no 
heed  to  weapons.  They  simply  walk  up  to  the  main 
wigwam  and  look  down  upon  the  old  squaw,  seated  upon 
the  ground,  wrapped  in  a  bear  skin, — come  from  no  one 
knows  where.  But  that  old  squaw  is  their  guardian 
angel;  the  sentient  talisman  of  the  tribe;  the  wraith  of  a 
forgotten  ancestry,  and  the  braves  give  a  gutteral  ex- 
pression of  satisfaction  and  walk  back. 

What  can  be  in  the  wrinkled  face,  low  brow,  and  fierce, 
black  eye  of  that  old  squaw  that  should  give  a  whole 
nation  of  warriors  heart? 

The  old  squaw  is  just  from  Washakim.  She  left  but 
three  hours  ago.  Her  hands  are  still  red  with  the  blood 
of  a  Twin  Lake  Indian.  Washakim's  tents  are  empty  of 
warriors  to-night.  The  last  male  soul  took  flight  at  her 

1"The  earless  wild  goose"  only  seems  so  as,  without  ruffling 
the  short  feathers,  we  make  a  fruitless  search  for  the  appen- 
dage. 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  293 

bidding.     Washakim  took  spoil  of  the  plantation,  and  a 
squaw,  witch  or  otherwise,  a  squaw  will  steal. 

A  fire  is  being  built  by  the  main  wigwam,  and  soon  the 
crackling  blaze  illumines  the  whole  flat,  and  the  steep 
beyond,  and  warms  the  slowly  coursing  blood  in  the  veins 
of  the  sorceress.  Bear  skins  are  brought  for  her  to 
recline  upon;  cold  meat,  and  bread  of  bruised  corn  are 
set  before  her,  and  soon  a  steaming  pot  of  earthen,  boil- 
ing sweet  herbs  savory  with  pennyroyal,  and  flavored 
with  honey.  And  when  she  had  eaten  and  drank  and 
mused  awhile  over  the  fantastic  writhing  of  a  pitch  pine 
flame  as  it  worked  in  and  out  of  the  heavy  column  of 
smoke,  and  when  she  had  jabbered  in  broken,  incoherent 
Nipnap  jargon  to  the  shapes  and  faces  waltzing  round 
about  among  the  coals, — turned  her  stiffened,  crooked 
fingers  over  and  over  and  dwelt  with  her  snakey  eyes 
upon  the  blood  spots,  she  too  leaned  back  against  the  wall 
of  the  wigwam  and  slept. 

A  courier  comes  in  and  reports  that  the  enemy's  line  is 
moving  up  at  a  rapid  pace.  Another  and  another,  from 
different  directions,  bring  a  similar  report,  and  away  they 
go  again  into  the  darkness.  Still  not  a  warrior  seems  to 
shake  off  his  lethargy.  Still  he  lounges  and  broods  or 
sleeps  on.  But  now  the  heavy  bang  of  an  old  flint  lock 
on  the  hill  top  tells  them  that  the  hour  has  come. 

Was  ever  such  a  change  in  men  and  manner?  The 
Indian  that  slept  but  now,  is  now  a  fiery  dragon,  wilder, 
fiercer  than  the  maddened  lynx  of  his  own  forest;  not  a 
muscle  but  seems  swelling  for  action;  not  a  sinew  but  is 


294  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

strung  stiff  as  the  gut  that  holds  his  bow  in  form.  Each 
warrior  has  had  his  place  assigned.  A  hundred  climb 
to  the  summit  of  the  hill.  Seventy  fall  in  behind  that  line 
of  boulders  which  stretches  down  the  southern  skirt,  and 
seventy  warriors,  half  with  muskets,  are  lodged  in  that 
dry  ravine  (that  was)  upon  the  north. 

These  places  had  been  kept  for  ages  as  posts  of  defense, 
and  in  front  of  them,  along  the  shore,  the  timber  had 
been  kept  down  for  a  bow  shot's  length.  The  moon  was 
now  well  up,  and,  except  in  the  forest,  a  man  might  be 
seen  for  many  yards  away.  Upon  the  summit  of  the  hill, 
where  but  little  could  grow  beside  stunted  brushwood, 
and  where  nothing  was,  except  here  and  there  a  clump 
of  scrub  oak  or  sumach,  and  that  rocking  boulder,  it 
would  seem  impossible  for  an  Indian  to  creep  unobserved 
until  within  cast  of  a  tomahawk.  But  there  they  were, 
and  even  the  watch  had  not  seen  or  heard  them  until  the 
second  before  he  gave  the  signal  that  so  roused  the  war- 
riors, and  in  answer  to  which  came  a  whoop  so  hideous,  so 
frightful.  It  was  like  the  voice  of  a  locomotive  whistle 
before  science  reduced  that  phonic  horror  to  obedience. 
It  came  from  the  besieging  party  and  was  the  signal  for 
a  general  onslaught,  and  at  the  summit  a  hand  to  hand 
encounter  commenced  and  was  waged  with  varying  suc- 
cess, for  although  the  assailants  here  outnumbered  the  Hill 
Indians  as  two  to  one,  even  after  those  assigned  that 
post  had  reached  the  summit,  the  Hill  men  had  the 
advantage  of  familiar  ground  and  were  aided  by  the 
darkness  which  the  moonlight  only  partially  dispelled. 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  295 

The  assault  was  made  simultaneously  upon  the  summit 
and  the  wings. 

The  old  clearing  in  front  of  both  boulder  barricade  and 
ravine,  made  it  impossible  for  an  enemy  to  approach 
without  exposing  himself  to  musket  shot;  and  as  the  first 
rush  was  made  toward  these  protected  positions  a  murder- 
ous volley  met  the  too  eager  Northmen,  and  in  a  moment 
threw  them  into  the  utmost  confusion  and  consternation, 
for  it  had  not  occurred  to  them  that  the  near  neighbors 
of  the  white  men  were  likely  to  be  provided  with  this 
more  effective  weapon,  and  they  had  rushed  pell-mell  into 
the  jaws  of  death. 

That  the  Quinsigamonds  had  from  time  to  time  become 
possessed  of  firearms  through  their  friendly  neighbors, — 
sometimes  for  service  rendered,  sometimes  merely  for 
good  will  (for  a  defaced  and  discarded  firearm  was  a 
cheap  token  on  one  hand,  and  an  inestimable  prize  upon 
the  other),  had  become  but  little  known  to  other  than 
the  nearest  at  hand  tribes,  who  were  more  wary  of  attack, 
and  quite  ready  to  place  the  strangers  in  the  van,  and 
relinquish  to  them  the  honor.  The  ignorance  of  the  facts 
on  the  part  of  the  Northmen  had  cost  them  a  score  of 
lives  at  the  first  onset. 

It  would  be  almost  unheard  of  for  a  body  of  Indians 
knowingly  to  cross  open  grounds  in  the  face  of  levelled 
musketr}'.  They  readily  enter  into  hand-to-hand  con- 
tests, but  take  few  chances  at  musket  range,  opposed 
to  men  so  armed,  and  it  was  this  aversion  to  being  picked 
off  like  so  much  defenceless  game,  that  deterred  the 


296  DOOM    OP   WASHAKIM. 

enemy  from  again  seriously  assuming  the  offensive  at 
these  positions. 

While  the  battle  was  being  fiercely  waged  upon  the 
top  of  the  hill,  the  shore  of  the  lake  resounded  with  the 
acoustic  horrors  of  a  pandemonium,  for,  like  all  savage 
races,  they  relied  upon  the  terrifying  effects  of  hideous 
vocalism  to  inspire  courage  upon  one  hand,  and  excite 
fear  upon  the  other. 

Up  to  this  time  but  little  effective  work  had  been 
done  beyond  the  slaughter  that  attended  the  volley  of 
musketry,  and  now,  so  clearly  shone  the  moonlight 
across  the  opening,  and  in  among  the  tree  trunks,  where 
no  underbrush  obscured  the  vision,  that  an  Indian  could 
not  show  an  arm,  a  leg,  a  shoulder,  but  it  drew  fire  from 
behind  the  boulders,  or  the  protecting  earth  walls  of  the 
ravine,  and  billeted  its  owner  to  the  happy  hunting 
grounds. 

Every  now  and  then  some  rash  young  warrior,  think- 
ing to  make  fame  by  an  exploit,  hazarded  a  forlorn  hope, 
and  was  gathered  to  his  fathers. 

Things  remained  practically  the  same  at  the  wings, 
and  might  have  done  so  until  morning,  had  not  the 
Washakims,  who  were  engaged  in  the  attack  upon  the 
hill  top  learned  by  runners  of  the  useless  occupation  of 
the  Northmen  at  the  wings  and  ordered  them  to  the 
summit,  in  hope  to  push  the  Quinsigamonds  over  the 
precipice  by  sheer  weight  of  numbers,  as  a  last  resort, 
where  too  close  fighting,  and  the  consequent  confusion 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  297 

and  abandonment  of  method,  had  so  far  rendered  this 
struggle  abortive. 

Three  hundred  Indians  now  clambered  up  the  northern 
and  southern  slopes,  followed  by  sharpshooters  who 
recognized  in  the  movement  a  general  retreat,  and  even 
after  the  summit  was  reached  by  the  pursued,  the  well 
armed  Quinsigamonds,  keeping  at  a  safe  distance  from 
the  occasional  showers  of  arrows,  continued  to  pour  their 
murderous  fire  of  shot  into  the  black,  surging,  unde- 
finable  mass,  which,  in  its  wild  confusion  and  deafening 
clamor  seemed  in  no  way  cognizant  of  the  cause  of  the 
shrieks  and  gasps  of  such  as  were  stung  by  the  whistling, 
leaden  missiles. 

The  weight  of  increased  numbers  began  now  to  tell 
severely  upon  the  already  nearly  spent  Hill  Indians,  and 
as  they  gave  way  foot  by  foot,  inch  by  inch,  the  eager 
Washakims,  with  Tehuanto  at  their  head,  began  to 
exult  in  their  almost  realized  revenge. 

Back  went  the  Quinsigamonds,  slowly  but  surely; 
swinging  their  sharp  stone  hatchets  in  the  frenzy  of  a  des- 
pair that  gloats  on  dealing  out  that  death  it  looks  for, 
and  even  at  the  point  of  dissolution  exults  in  compassing 
an  enemy's  demise. 

They  have  passed  the  upper  ledge  where  it  crops  out 
at  the  summit,  and  have  passed  that  hundred  ton  boulder 
that  stood  beside  it.  The  glare  of  the  great  fire  below 
glows  upon  the  painted  faces  of  the  Washakims  who  con- 
front them. 

The  old  squaw,  wild  with  excitement,  has  heaped  the 


298  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

bed  of  coals  with  masses  of  dry  brushwood,  until  the 
flames  stream  upward  and  shed  a  ruddy  light  upon  the 
scene. 

Down  go  the  Quinsigamonds,  rank  by  rank,  fairly 
crowded  over  the  rocks,  over  the  precipice,  until  hardly 
a  score  of  them  are  left  to  dispute  the  victors'  passage  and 
to  bar  him  from  his  prize,  when  the  sorceress,  the  Witch  of 
Wigwam,  seizes  a  blazing  brand  and  scales  the  hillside, 
halts  for  a  moment  at  the  first  rock  foothold  to  catch 
breath,  then  darts  up  the  narrow  ledge  with  the  agility 
of  a  young  warrior,  as  if  the  frightful  clamor  had  renewed 
her  prime,  had  imparted  new  strength  to  her  withered 
muscles,  and  suppleness  to  joints  that  for  many  years 
had  creaked  with  dryness. 

Crossing  zig-zag  up  the  ledges  that  long  decades  back 
her  childish  feet  had  climbed  in  play,  the  torch  blazing 
as  she  went,  flying  like  a  woods  cat  up  and  over  the 
rocks,  eager  to  cast  herself,  all  that  was  left  of  her,  upon 
the  altar  of  her  home,  she  hurries  to  her  death. 

The  Washakims,  awe  struck  by  the  apparition,  by  the 
presence  of  her  whose  necromancy,  or  whose  preter- 
natural insight,  foresight,  and  strange  powers  had  so 
often  beguiled,  bewildered,  startled  and  subdued  them, 
opened  to  the  right  and  left  for  the  maniac,  and  for  the 
moment  ceased  to  murder,  ceased  while  the  crazy  red 
hag  passed;  passed,  save  her  flaming  torch  light,  out  of 
sight,  into  the  midst  of  the  now  waiting,  suspensive 
crowd  of  Northmen  behind  them.  Some  demon's  work 
is  on  her  hands.  The  powers  of  darkness  have  electri- 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  299 

fied  her  entire  being.  Some  mad  achievement  has  fore- 
cast its  wild  picture  upon  her  sickly  brain.  But  she,  the 
witch,  they  dare  not  check  her.  They,  who  feared  not 
death, — feared  nothing  earthly, — feared  that  old  woman. 

She  has  passed  out  of  the  crowd,  and  out  of  sight. 
Only  the  lurid  light  of  the  torch  is  visible,  up  over  the 
great  boulder,  and  at  either  side. 

While  she  was  still  in  view,  when  she  first  set  foot 
upon  the  soil  above  the  scarp,  might  have  been  seen  by 
the  light  of  the  faggot  fire  below,  five  strange,  new 
figures.  Figures  that  showed  none  of  the  grime  and 
tear  of  battle.  Figures  that  leap  from  rock  to  rock,  agile 
as  deer,  and  sure  footed  as  foxes,  and  behind  them,  but 
separated  by  only  half  a  bow  shot  length,  still  other 
two,  strange, — for  things  familiar,  but  out  of  expec- 
tation, are  a  strangeness. 

One  of  the  two  passed  up  by  the  zig-zag  ledges,  com- 
ing from  the  north.  One  came  bounding  over  the  rocks 
from  the  south,  passed  along  the  narrow  ledge  to  where  it 
parts  and  runs  two  ways  upward  toward  the  summit.  None 
of  the  seven  had  reached  the  top.  The  Washakims  above 
had  not  seen  them.  Their  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  light 
where  that  she  demon  had  passed  from  view,  while 
the  Northmen,  amazed  at  the  antics  of  what  seemed  to 
them  some  flitting  sprite,  stood  agape.  The  one  was 
startled,  subdued;  the  other  surprised,  confounded. 

But  now  the  great  hill  seemed  to  move  upon  its  base 
beneath  them.  To  rock  and  reel  like  a  forest  tree  shivered 
by  lightning,  and  the  splintered  debris,  limbs  of  trees, 


300  DOOM   OF    WASHAKIM. 

rock,  earth,  arms,  legs,  whole  bodies  of  men  cast  by 
scores  into  the  air  and  hurled  in  thick  confusion  over  the 
precipice,  are  followed  by  rushing  sound  so  deep  and  heavy 
it  would  seem  as  if  the  granite  hill  itself  had  parted  and 
was  toppling  over.  Earth,  rocks,  and  mutilated  men 
follow  in  the  wake  of  a  huge  flying  mass.  Uprooted 
hemlocks  snap  in  splinters  like  dry  weeds,  and  follow 
toward  the  lake. 

A  moment's  lull  has  come;  and  in  that  moment  the 
seven  warriors,  who  had  stopped  until  the  uproar  passed, 
shielded  by  the  overhanging  cliffs  that  two  centuries' 
frosts  have  crumbled,  now  sprang  toward  the  top,  and  as 
they  leave  the  ledges  and  half  turn  towards  the  light  be- 
low, we  see  the  face  of  the  white  captain,  and  the  low, 
dark  brow  of  Wandee. 

It  is  their  hour  of  revenge. 

Five  picked  warriors,  fresh  as  if  but  an  hour  from 
their  blankets,  and  two  staunch  leaders  who  have  wrongs 
to  right. 

It  was  a  sorry  night  for  the  Washakims.  Utterly 
demoralized  by  the  terrible  explosion  which  to  them  bore 
no  evidence  except  of  earth's  convulsions,  added  to  the 
frantic  movements  of  the  witch  to  whose  machinations 
they  could  but  attribute  the  outburst  of  fire  from  the 
earth,  and  the  earthquake  that  followed;  they  were  in 
neither  mood  nor  condition  to  defend  themselves  from  the 
new  foes  by  whom  they  were  beset;  for  to  them,  these 
two  were  the  ghosts  of  their  most  dreaded  enemies  whom 
they  believed  dead,  and  with  them  were  other  spirits, 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  3OI 

scarcely   less   formidable,  conjured   up   to  hunt  them  to 
despair. 

The  scene  that  followed  was  what  might  be  expected, 
where  angry  barbarians  are  privileged  to  glut  revenge. 

When  the  Hill  men  met  no  resistance  from  the  bewil- 
dered allies,  the  captain  vainly  strove  to  stay  the  bloody 
hands  of  his  ferocious  comrades. 

But  their  work  was  brief.  A  panic  ensued,  and  the 
herd  of  tribesmen  scattered  like  a  bevy  of  frightened 
quails. 

The  old  squaw  went  up  in  the  flying  ruin  she  had 
wrought  with  the  powder  stolen  at  Washakim,  and  by 
her  dead  body,  at  the  foot  of  the  little  mountain,  was 
found  the  mangled  remains  of  Eugene  Archer.  Ever 
intent  on  the  evil  he  had  brooded  over,  he  had  followed 
the  twice  lost  girl  of  Sagatabscot,  reckless  of  danger, 
heedless  of  torture  from  his  splintered  wrist,  into  the  tents 
of  his  dreaded  foes. 

That  great  boulder  that  was  toppled  from  its  airy  perch 
upon  the  crown  of  Wigwam  Hill,  at  the  beck  of  the 
Witch  of  Wigwam  now  lies  on  the  little  flat  below,  half 
buried  in  the  sand,  and  to  this  day  the  deep  scar  is  visible 
where  it  tore  its  way  down  by  the  southern  edge  of  the 
rock  escarpment  of  the  hill  two  hundred  years  ago. 

The  fight  was  over;  the  turmoil  was  at  an  end;  and 
the  captain  and  Wandee,  each  unconscious  of  the  other's 
present  existence  until  they  stood  side  by  side  at  the 
explosion,  now  found  time  for  greeting. 

Wandee  stood  motionless,  passionless.     The  same  stern 


302  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM. 

stoic  of  the  woods  as  when,  without  a  pang,  he  shouldered 
his  game  and  left  Shonto  to  gasp  his  life  away  in  blood. 

He  had  owed  the  white  man  a  debt,  and  had  cancelled 
his  obligation.  Was  it  for  love  ?  Who  ever  heard  that 
an  Indian  could  harbor  the  sentiment  ?  He  had  fulfilled 
his  savage  conception  of  a  duty. 

But  the  captain  was  cast  in  a  far  different  mould.  He 
stepped  forward  with  wide  open  arms,  and  embracing  the 
still  undemonstrative  red  statue,  wept  like  a  child. 

"  Bull  moose  got  cap'n  'g'in.     Wandee  help  cap'n." 

"Oh,  Wandee,  you  did,  and  you  tried  so  hard  to  save 
my  poor,  dear,  lost  Susan. ' ' 

"  Cap'n  stop  !  Stop  cry  !  Squaw  all  right.  Squaw  down 
wigwam.  See  ?  Down  fire.  Squaw  look  up — see  ?  Scalp 
all  good — see? 

We  leave  the  captain  and  the  little  woman  of  Sagatab- 
scot  Hill  to  their  tender  meeting. 

The  disgraced,  defeated,  and  more  than  decimated 
Northmen,  soon  as  their  chief  could  rally  the  scattering 
bauds  that  had  stampeded  like  startled  crows  at  the 
great  hill-shake,  started  on  their  long  journey  to  Ontario 
woods,  never  again  to  respond  to  the  summons  of  the 
valorous  king  of  the  Wampanoags.  The  ills  that  attend- 
ed their  first  adventure  were  too  disastrous,  and  not  until 
that  generation  had  passed  away,  not  until  the  French 
priests  of  the  Church  Immaculate  had  inspired  them  with 
hatred  for  the  Saxon  heretic,  did  they  venture  again  to 
put  distance  between  themselves  and  the  borders  of 
Canadian  forests. 


DOOM    OF   WASHAKIM.  303 

The  Washakims  were  crushed  in  the  hour  of  victory 
and  exultation,  crushed  and  ground  to  powder  like 
magic,  in  the  stone  mortar,  under  a  squaw  cook's  pestle. 

The  weird  contrivings  of  the  old  red  witch,  who  loved 
nobody,  loved  nothing  but  the  memories  of  a  savage 
home  and  a  wild  ancestry,  had  terrified  a  continent  of  men, 
and  it  only  remained  for  the  powers  at  Boston  to  dole  out 
the  thirty  pieces  of  silver,1  and  the  Judas  of  Narragansett 
would  betray  his  master, — the  great,  grand  chief  of  the 
Wampanoags — King  Philip  of  Mount  Hope. 

The  chief,  Tehuanto,  lay  bruised,  almost  beyond  recog- 
nition, and  dead,  half  buried  beneath  the  big  boulder  on 
the  little  flat;  and  from  a  fierce,  warlike  tribe,  the  Washa- 
kims bent  to  their  fate,  a  scattered,  thriftless,  alms-taking 
race  of  vagabonds. 

Wandee  lived  some  years  with  his  little  tribe  at  Wig- 
wam Hill,  but  their  number  diminished  rapidly,  as  many 
of  them  sickened  of  contact  with  civilization  and  found 
more  congenial  haunts  among  the  Penobscots.  More  of 
them  succumbed  to  the  paralyzing  influence  of  a  drink 
that  was  ever  their  master,  while  those  who  remained, — 
after  suffering  indignity  and  robbery  under  the  letter  of 
drunkenly  executed  bargains,  losing  the  fee  in  their 
ancient  heritage  on  the  lake  border;  losing  their  corn 
lands;  and  all  at  the  hands  of  those  they  had,  according 
to  their  ability,  many  times  befriended,  after  a  while 

1  History  tells  us  how  the  white  man's  silver,  bribed  the  great 
chief's  tribesman  to  slay  him  at  musket  range  from  an  ambush 
at  Mount  Hope. 


304  DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.. 

left  their  old  home  by  the  beautiful  water — the  I/ake 
of  Quinsigamond,  a  miserable  remnant  of  discouraged, 
broken-hearted  mendicants,  rigged  like  buffoons  in  a 
lousy  array  of  cast-off  English  toggery — to  find  preca- 
rious living  among  the  squaw  men  of  Hassinomissitt, 
who  thought  it  no  disgrace  for  a  warrior  to  chop  or  to 
hoe,  and  where  a  baker's  dozen  remain  to  this  day  in 
worthless  indigence.1 

The  wild  spirit  and  proud  bearing  of  Wandee  mani- 
fested itself  in  some  scions  of  every  generation,  and 
finally  culminated  in  the  person  of  the  half  wild,  fierce, 
erratic  Sal  Boston,  so  well  known  in  this  region  as  an 
aboriginal  terror  shrouded  in  legal  immunity,  as  late  as 
eighteen  hundred  and  fifty.  Her  tall,  lank  figure,  elas- 
tic step,  bold  and  semi-barbarous  manners  were  familiar 
sights  to  the  boys  of  Worcester  now  turned  of  sixty. 

The  widow  of  Sergent,  and  her  little  daughter  Netty, 
died  in  captivity  among  the  Indians  of  Canada. 

Martha  was  redeemed  after  seven  years  dwelling  among 
them,  and  returning  to  the  plantation  and  marrying, 
took  possession  of  the  Sergent  homestead. 

The  morning  after  the  discomfited  allies  abandoned 
the  siege  and  scattered,  each  remnant  of  a  tribe  for  its 
home,  some  swift  feet  were  flying  over  the  hill  toward 
Marlborough,  and  at  midday  of  the  next,  twelve  saddled 
horses,  only  eight  of  them  mounted  (for  Wandee  and 

1  Within  two  years  of  the  end  of  the  present  century  the 
Hassinomissitts  have  sold  to  the  whites  the  remnant  of  land 
owned  and  occupied  by  them  for  many  hundred  years. 


DOOM   OF   WASHAKIM.  305 

the  chief  scout  must  be  Marlborough's  lions  for  a  day), 
filed  in  among  the  old  chestnut  trees  at  Wigwam  Hill. 

Among  the  riderless  horses  we  see  that  superb,  black 
stallion,  Pompey,  led  by  his  old  groom,  Black  Jake,  and 
among  the  riders  we  recognize  the  Deacon  and  Parson 
Meekman,  Curtis,  Hart,  Gershom  Rice  and  Jim  Pyke, 
with  some  of  their  wives,  who  purposed  to  act  as  especial 
escort  to  the  little  yellow-haired,  blue-eyed  girl  whom 
we  have  learned — through  sympathy,  if  nothing  else — to 
love. 

I  dislike,  of  all  things,  to  hang»my  harp  on  the  horn  of 
a  precedent.  The  young  lady  deserved  to  become  the 
central  figure  in  a  wedding  party,  but  she,  with  Captain 
John  Wing  and  their  friends,  went  to  Marlborough  that 
day, — and  Marlborough  was  then  a  long  way  off. 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE. 


MANY  people  will  cavil  at  the  spelling  of  some  of  the  Indian 
names,  thinking  they  know  it  all.  But  how  many  will  agree 
in  the  spelling  of  names  known  only  as  uttered  in  a  stomach- 
spoken  dialect,  a  hasty,  careless,  half  developed  enunciation? 
My  spelling  is  in  accordance  with  my  interpretation  of  sound 
as  taken  from  lips  but  oii'e  remove  from  familiar  acquaintance 
with  the  local  aboriginal  type  of  utterance. 

Among  such  names  as  have  been  garbled  to  suit  the  fancy  of 
alien  authors,  I  will  mention  Wapiti,  a  name  for  the  elk, 
properly  accented  upon  the  first  syllable,  but  improperly  per- 
verted by  accentuation  of  the  second.  Tetassit  instead  of 
Tehassit  was  never  heard  of  until  after  the  expiration  of  the 
first  quarter  of  the  present  century.  Hassinomisco,  a  recent 
arbitrary  substitute  for  Hassinomissit.  Waushacum,  a  veritable 
orthographical  abortion,  an  inexcusable  distortion  of  the  word 
Washakim. 

Quinsicamong  was  the  original  of  Quinsigamond,  but  as  the 
last  is  in  universal  acceptance,  and  possibly  more  euphonious, 
and  as  it  is  perhaps  the  part  of  wisdom  to  hand  down  to 
futurity  unquestioned  a  local  appellation  of  growing  importance, 
I  give  it  as  at  present  spoken. 


MIIII  mi  inn  urn  inn  minim  illinium; 

A     000684131 


